


Detroit: Become Human x Readers

by omi_writings



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: And Non Deviant Connor, Angst, Deviant Connor, F/F, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff, M/M, NSFW, Reader Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-30
Updated: 2018-11-20
Packaged: 2019-05-16 01:39:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 59
Words: 126,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14801912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/omi_writings/pseuds/omi_writings
Summary: Wrote an imagine for a friend and ended up having more requested on my Tumblr, so I decided to save them here! I haven't completely finished the game and other routes so sorry for inconsistencies.I try to keep reader gender neutral, and take requests on my Tumblr!





	1. Talents and Tricks (Connor x Reader)

As a human, you weren't sure what to expect when you were told your station's next investigation would be co-handled by an android. A prototype, sent by CyberLife itself, in fact. You'd heard the stories of androids taking jobs, replacing humans roles and the likes. So as someone who'd never really interacted with them, you should probably have felt some unease, and even shown some hostility.

As a police officer doing a job, and a person of decent morals, you got the fuck over it.

You could see how your co-workers moved their gaze his way. Repeatedly throughout the few 15 minutes since he'd arrived, and sat down at the free desk across from Hank.

That was going to be an ordeal of its own. You liked Hank, you liked getting pizza with him on stake-outs and listening to heavy metal in his car while you waited for orders. But if there was one thing you knew about Hank, and pretty much every other asshole in this place, you knew with every they hated androids. Despised them, even.

Without looking around you knew they were whispering, jeering, maybe even planning elaborate hazings or malicious pranks to pull in their minds. You knew, but you could hardly notice, what with you being so busy staring at your new co-worker yourself.

Unlike the others stealing glances, you did not break your line of sight. Eyes seemingly locked onto this new figure. More specifically, the coin he flipped in his hands.

He'd been doing it for a good few minutes now, flicking it between his thumbs and forefingers, flipping it in the air and catching it deftly each time. He never missed a beat, and you could tell it was starting to get on the nerves of the others. Still, there was just something... enchanting, about his movements.

About him.

"Am I distracting you?" A friendly voice - if kind of warbly and strange- pulled you from your thoughts, and back to the real world. With a start, you found your eyes locking with another pair. You'd been caught staring. By the subject of your fascination, no less.

"Oh, no! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to stare." You lifted your hands up and offered an apologetic smile, utterly mortified that you of all people had been the one he'd caught out. Watching his expressions, his body language, he seemed to take no offence. But, like most androids, you reminded yourself, that wasn't in his programming. As far as you know, at least. Leaning forward in your chair, you listened as he spoke.

"It's quite alright. As an android, I understand my presence in your work must be unnerving to you." Oh. You supposed that was probably the easiest thing to assume. Hell, looking at you from the outside, you would have likely thought the same. The last thing you wanted was to start off on the wrong foot.

"Oh, no it's not that," You shook your head, before gesturing to the coin. "I was just wondering why you were playing with that." Your question, shockingly, seemed to catch him off guard, pausing for a second you practically saw the processors whirring away in his head as he thought up an answer.

"Playing? My... tricks? With the coin?" He asked, and you gave him a nod, leaning against your desk on your elbows.

"Yeah, it's really cool. I- Hold on." You paused for a second and looked around. The space between you two was large enough for a car to pass by, and you had no intention of returning to your work or ending this conversation here. Growing tired of talking from across the room you rolled your wheely chair over, pushing yourself from your desk for propulsion. You didn't have to look around to know the eyes of the room were following you. Coming to fast a stop next to his desk, you flashed what you hoped was a bright and friendly smile.

"I was just wondering. I'm Y/N, by the way," You held out your hand, waiting patiently for his answer. He tilted his head, probably scanning you, or calculating something in his head again. As he did, for the first time you found yourself concentrating on his face.

Up this close, you could see the details. His smooth skin, marked slightly with a freckle, for what you could only assume was realism. Brown eyes that flashed with programmed emotions, even his hair fell like it was styled by a human. A human with very good taste- Jesus, was it possible for CyberLife to create an ugly android? He looked like a cover model.

"My name is Connor. I'm the android sent by CyberLife. As for my coin, it helps keeps my reflexes alert, and my sensors running." Made sense. With a job like his, you couldn't risk slacking. A hostage situation, a fight. He could probably predict where the coin was going to land before he even threw it. God knows what that kind of power of calculations could do in the field.

But you didn't concentrate on that. Your mind, instead, went to the movements. So fluid and easy. Like he'd trained and practised over and over.

"That's so cool," You gushed, swearing you nearly caught a flash of surprise in his eyes before you continued.

"Do you know other tricks like that?" He opened his mouth to answer you, but couldn't get a word in before a loud snort caught both of your attention.

"Depends. Do you count creepy blood tasting as a trick?" Dripping with sarcasm, Hank's voice travelled over your desks and screens. Quickly turning it off, you and Connor found Hank staring at you with a half smile. Your nose scrunched up in disgust.

"Nope, but thanks for the image Frank." You called him by the wrong name, regarding him with a frown as you turned back to Connor. Hank was probably just bullshitting you, but... still...

"...Can you do that?" Your heart caught as Connor once again hesitated. What? He did what?

"Yes, but the purpose is not to taste. It is to analyze. Be it blood, acid or the likes." He explained, and you nodded along, only really half getting it. You weren't sure how to respond to that.

"Oh. Neat." Was all you said, before Hank slouched back in his seat, a look of utter disgust.

"Of course you think that's 'neat'." Hank groaned, bringing his hands to his face as you leaned over in your chair to look at him. God, what a drama queen.

"Everyone has their talents, Hank. Even weird ones." To anyone else, it would have sounded like a simple defence. But you'd known Hank a while. A long while. Long enough for him to know your particular skillset well.

"We're well aware, Y/L/N." He shot back, before pulling up his screen. He wasn't about to get any deeper into this rabbit hole, and you both knew it.

"Do you have a trick, Y/N?" Connor asked, likely out of politeness. The grin on your face had not even reached your ears before you heard Hank groan in disgust. He knew what was coming. Your smile turned mischievous. Not a talent, but a trick?

"You could certainly say that." You laughed, and when Connor looked on confused, you explained.

"I can drink orange jui, through my nose. With a straw." You announced it proudly, ready for his face to blanch or wrinkle in disgust. But you forgot you were dealing with an android. Instead, he stared at you, with interest clearly taken.

"I... have not heard of that before. Just orange juice?" He inquired, a genuine curiosity to his voice that nearly made you laugh.

"Nope, other stuff too, like soda or water..." You explained, ready to list them off before you paused. Hank already knew what was coming.

"Do you want to see?" Connor had no time to respond before he was interrupted, desperately so.

"God- Don't do this again!" Hank bemoaned, an almost pleading tone to his voice. You rolled your eyes dramatically. He'd already seen it, like, a billion times. Of all the things to get squeamish over...

"I am... curious." Connor conceded with the slightest hint of a smile in the corner of his lips. And if you didn't know any better, you would have thought he was purposefully trying to gross out Hank. That was impossible, of course, but it didn't make the thought any less sweet.

Oh yeah.

This would be funny.

"Give me a quarter and five minutes and I'll be ready." Connor complied with your request, hand in his pocket before you'd even finished speaking. Hank could even start with his complaints before you were up from your seat, your mission set in your mind.

"Don't you fucking do this! You have work to do!" He bargained, drawing the brief attention of co-workers who were used to this shtick. It was already far too late, your hand in the air, waving goodbye.

"Hank, as your co-worker and friend I'm legally obligated to fuck with you at every opportunity!" You called back, stifling a giggle as Connor tilted his head again.

"That is not a law I've heard-"

"Shut up, Connor." Was the last thing you heard before you were out of earshot, on a beeline towards the nearest vending machine.

Man, maybe having a CyberLife android present in your workplace would screw with things a little.

But with one so cute and willing to at least assist you in fucking with your coworkers? That was hard to have any negative feelings about.


	2. Peace (Connor x Reader)

You knew it was a bad idea from the start.

You were a police officer. You had to be ready to be on call at all times. Prepared to jump into action in a matter of seconds, to adapt to dangerous situations. Your duty had to come first.

You just wondered why it had to call at a time like this?

Of course, you were getting a call now. Of course, this was happening in the hour you’d been babysitting for your friend. God dammit, how long did getting milk from a grocery store take? You hardly had time to grumble, what with the source of the noise killing your happiness making its presence known more and more by the second.

“Hey, hey shh…” For what felt like the billionth time these past 10 minutes alone, you hushed the tiny, sobbing baby cradled in your arms with gentle words and whispers. It worked about as well as the last times Penny’s screaming had begun. Too warm, too cold, too dark, too sunny. Babies, as you had learned, were tricky. Tricky to keep happy. You had opted to sit on the windowsill, rocking her back and forth as you watched cars go by. She’d looked so peaceful there, breathing lightly, her eyes shut.

It had been the blaring sound of your ringtone, wreaking havoc on the 4-month-olds ears that spoiled the quiet moment. Arms full, you shifted the screaming child into one arm, lifting your phone to your ear with the other.

“Hello?” With some difficulty, you managed to answer, pressing your phone to your ear with your shoulder. Like magic, the baby’s screams dissipated on cue with the ringtone.

“Deputy Y/L/N?” A heavy sigh left your lips. You’d recognise that strange voice anywhere.

“Connor? What- What do you want?” Had you told him you were on break today? No, and even then you doubted he’d understand the need for it. Even if he was now deviant, the human lifestyle was one he was still learning about.

“We’ve been assigned a case.” Shocker. You doubted he’d call you for any other reason. Rolling your eyes you adjusting your sitting position, listening as he continued on.

“I was told to collect you and Hank, however, you were not home.” Yep. You were aware of that. Blinking a few times you gave another sigh.

“No, no I’m at a friends.” You explained, leaning against the window. You could hardly up and leave for some murder, theft whatever now. Especially-

“With… an infant?” Like he was reading your mind, Connor spoke, sending you into a mode of total alertness.

“How did-” Your head snapped up and you whipped around, eyes locking onto the window. More specifically, the figure outside the window, on the sidewalk, with a phone to his ear. He raised his hand in greeting.

“Connor! How the- How?!” Why was also a good question. In fact, you had many questions. And if Connor wanted to leave with his body intact, he was going to answer them.

“When you did not answer, I called your friend to ask about your whereabouts, and she said to come here.” Okay. So he hadn’t stalked you, technically. Was that even a thing he understood? Christ, you were going to have to have a long talk with him.

“How do you know- You know what? No. I don’t care. Just- come to the door.” How they knew each other was a conversation for another day. The important thing was stopping him from standing outside, looking like a creep for any second longer.

Pushing yourself up, baby still in your arms you walked, sighing as your phone fell from your shoulder to the floor. Connor had already ended the call, so fuck it. You’d pick it up later. Reaching the door you moved the gurgling baby to one arm, undoing the lock before pulling it open, only to find Connor standing still and ready at the door.

“Jesus-” You jolted in surprise, shoulders slouching once your eyes locked with his. Brown, gentle and a little confused.

“Hello.” He spoke simply. Long gone were the days of his lengthy, programmed instructions. Each day you could see him becoming more himself, and less of the product he was made to be. You would have taken the moment to appreciate him, were you not already so occupied.

“Hi, Connor. You should… come in? I guess?” You assumed it would be okay. Your friend had told him to come over after all. Stepping aside, he walked by after a little hesitation, stepping into the hallway.

“It’s in our best interests to get going…” Always quick to finish the job, something sounded far away in Connor’s voice as he spoke. Locking the door back up you turned and found his eyes locked solely on the baby.

“I’m not leaving her anywhere until her mother comes home. I’m not going to be a bad babysitter.” You said sternly. No way in hell were you bringing her to a crime scene. For once, Connor seemed to not care about your refusal.

“I suppose that would be… unwise, yes.” You tilted your head as you watched him, completely enamoured by this small human.

“Connor, have you ever seen a baby before?” You asked, seemingly breaking the spell as he blinked once, and then twice.

“Of course. Just not this… closely.” A smile pulled onto your lips as his face changed, softening as the baby shifted, staring at Connor with wide, inquisitive eyes. For once, she didn’t scream or cry or make any noise of distress. She just looked at him intently, with no sign of letting up.

“She’s staring.” He stated, keeping eye contact with the baby as he spoke. You gave a soft laugh.

“Babies like symmetrical faces. It’s, like, aesthetically pleasing to them. Especially to Penny. Yours is about as symmetrical as it gets.” You informed him, watching as he nodded, but never looked away. You took a step forward.

“Do you want to say hello?” A smile quirked at your lips as he didn’t answer, only offering another small nod. Carefully you raised Penny, supporting her head as he took a closer look, a hand moving forward to gently touch her cheek. A gurgling peal of laughter left her, bringing a small smile to Connors’ face.

Watching him treat the girl so gently made your heart stutter for a moment. The hesitance in his movements, the distant look in his eyes. You’d never seen him act quite like this. It was really… really nice. You wanted to point it out or make a verbal note of it but you’d barely opened your mouth before a familiar ringing caught your attention, snapping all three of you out of your trance.

“Shit, take her.” You spoke quickly as the screaming began, you had no time to waste. Of course, you’d left your phone in the living room. Of course, it had rung. So fucking typical.

With Penny safely -if awkwardly- cradled in Connors’ arms you darted away to answer your phone, scrambling to pick it up off the ground. Just as you answered, you noted the silence that had fallen since Connor had taken Penny. And then missed everything after that.

You missed Connor, as he stood, stiffly and awkwardly. Adjusting his hold on the infant every few seconds. Moving and changing his stance. Anyone could tell he hadn’t been trained for this, or how to cope with the small human shifting in his arms as she reached for him gleefully, with grasping fists.

You missed the smile on his face as he stared down at a possible future.

The phone call was short. Your friend, calling to apologise for her lateness, informed you she was on her way home. You’d sighed and told her about Connor, and your need to get going soon and had left the conversation being told that you would be relieved of your duty in a good 10 minutes time. Placing your phone back in your pocket you sighed, and turned around to find Connor sitting on the couch, the baby still in his arms.

“She shouldn’t be more than 10 or so minutes.” You told him, wasting no time in taking the opportunity to sit next to him. He nodded, relaxing into the couch with a familiarity you quite liked. Something about seeing him with this baby made your cheeks feel warm.

“I think I’m getting the hang of this.” He told you, almost smug in his words. You rolled your eyes and leaned over, head resting on his shoulder as you wiggled your fingers at Penny. You hadn’t even realized how tired you were before

“Do you want to keep holding her?” It was hardly a question worth asking, and it wasn’t one he graced with an answer as he kept her close with a protective air you’d only seen him have on the field.

You would have gotten up to stretch, or make a cup of tea or even call Hank just to try to give him some warning of your arrival. But instead, you stayed still, head resting on Connors surprisingly comfortable shoulder, emotionally exhausted without even beginning your actual work yet. If Connor had any complaints, he certainly didn’t air them as he stayed still, letting your body press against him. You indulged yourself with the idea that maybe, just maybe, he was enjoying this.

For that moment at least, the two of you felt peace in your normally hectic, stressful lives. A peace that hopefully, when your chance came, you’d be able to replicate one day.


	3. Falling (Connor x Reader)

Trained for extreme stress and violent sitiations, programmed with analytical systems and the best parts that CyberLife could afford for a prototype of his make. When it came to the job, Connor should have been able to cope with anything. Put an end to any unsavoury situation or individual and detain any deviant he came across. He was supposed to be the best of the best.

So why, if this was true, did he seem to be failing so... miserably at the moment?

It wasn't just now, he'd had it happen again and again. He would fumble with his hands, trip up over simple words, even blank out for moments. He had run every diagnostic, every check he could think of but still, there was nothing. Nothing wrong, according to all of these results- something he was sure had to be incorrect.

He didn't understand, but he'd found a connection. Every time there was a stutter, a mess up, the one common denominator was his 'co-worker'.

It was you.

You were like the others. A human. Working with Hank and him to discover a link between the Deviant crimes. But completely unbeknowst to you, and anyone else, you'd begun a whole other line of investigation inside his head.

"Hey!" Nearly jumping in his seat in fright, Connor turned his attention to your figure, sliding through the open car door where cold wind and snow was blowing in. Your hair had been windswept and tangled, snowflakes dotting all over your face and shoulders, refusing to move even as you shook your head laughing.

"Hello." His voice came out stranger than normal, warbly like he was... nervous? Which he wasn't. He couldn't be. He was a machine. You flashed him a quick smile, placing a tray on the dashboard. A tray of coffees.

There were two.

Noting his quizzical look, you gave a sheepish look, pushing back your hair from your face. Had you bought him a... coffee?

"I uh... well, I forgot you don't drink coffee. Or- anything, actually. I wanted to do something nice because you've been such a big help. But- I'm sorry, I only realized on my way back." You seemed genuinely worried you'd upset him in some way, in full knowledge that he functionally couldn't be angry or sad. He didn't know what to think. He wasnt supposed to think. Just know. And all he knew right now was that you'd gone out of your way to try to make him happy,

"I- Well, that's certainly no problem. I understand." The weak response came as he tried to subtly run another check of his systems. If his thirium pump was working like it said, why did it feel like his whole body was shutting down?

Why... why did he feel?

"You're sure?" You asked, moving the cups to the cupholder, a look of hesitance on your face. Connor swallowed.

"I'm sure." He said, feeling the most unsure he'd ever been in his short life. You gave him another smile, relieved this time as you started up the car.

"Okay. Well, it's best we get going to the station, yeah?" Connor only answered with a nod, too caught up in his seemingly failing systems to answer. He couldn't look away, he couldn't talk, he couldn't move. All he could do was feel. Feel, so immensely, so overwhelmingly that it was falling down on him, like warm rain, soaking him through and weighing down his clothes. Wonderful and troublesome all at once.

Was this... love?

Forcing his gaze into the road ahead, he bit his lip.

He would need to investigate more.


	4. Goner (Connor x Reader)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just finished a huge essay and my mind is frazzled so I don't really know how good this is. The request was a little tricky, but regardless, I hope you enjoy!

If you were to say you didn't visit detective Hank Andersons home regularly, anyone who knew you well enough would know you to be lying through your teeth. Indeed, you were the odd one out in your neighbourhood. You'd made a habit of visiting your next door neighbour a good 6 months ago, after helping him get home after a night of heavy drinking for the 12th time that month. It was hardly a grand affair. Show up with some pizza, turn on the basketball and making regular notes on his alcohol consumption as you talked bullshit like normal. Keeping an eye on him. It was a good reason to visit, but it wasn't the only one.

"Ahhh, Sumo!" Sitting on a rug on the floor of Hanks home, you wasted no time in pressing your face into the short hair of his pet Saint Bernard, who made a gentle noise in response. There was more rubbish on the floor than normal, with dust filling your nose and dirt tracking the carpet. It hardly mattered, though. You were willing to brave it all for Sumo.

"Christ, you could at least try to hide that you're only here for my dog," Hank grumbled from the kitchen, watching you lay flat on your stomach, poking Sumo's paws. That was hardly true, and he knew it, but with the long day, you'd had you didn't have much energy to argue.

"You can't prove that." You laughed in response, squeezing the dog tight. Your vision obscured, you could only listen as Hank gave a long sigh, followed by the sound of footsteps far too perfectly paced to be his.

"I doubt that's very hygienic." Connors' voice reached your ears as you pushed yourself up and out from your new dog-pillow. Connor was a new addition to these late night... whatever you wanted to call them. Regardless, it was interesting enough to have a new person added to the mix, but an android? Working with Hank? You never thought you'd see the day where he'd happily occupy a room with one, much less share his work.

Staring down at you with an analytical gaze, Connor tilted his head. He did this a lot when he talked to you. You wondered if he'd mastered the understanding of human individuality. Judging by the range of facial expressions he made whenever you or Hank did something different, you were going to go with no.

"I don't care about hygiene, I have a dog." You responded, the logic in your reasoning clear to nobody but you.

"Those two statements don't have any correlation." His perfect brow creased, and you fought to keep a snort of laughter from escaping you.

"Yeah, they do." You responded, laying your head on Sumo's stomach with a smile. You could've sworn you heard Connor sigh, could androids do that? You honestly had no idea. Such obsession with animals was about as human as human traits could come. Could androids understand that? Could they replicate that? You were curious Noticing Connor was beginning to tire of your antics, you pushed yourself up into a sitting position, poking his pant leg to get his attention.

"Hey, you should come down here and pet him." You suggested it with a smile, brow creasing as the LED on the side of his head flickered yellow for a moment. What was that?

"I'd... rather not." He responded, before shuffling his feet and looking away from your face. You raised an eyebrow at the shift, he almost looked like he felt awkward. Not that he didn't look awkward all the time.

"You don't like dogs?" You asked. They could be unnerving animals you supposed, but Sumo was hardly scary, and he couldn't get sick from him. Or the rubbish on the floor, for that manner. Was that what Connor was worried about? You were ready to tease him when he spoke first.

"I like dogs." He responded quickly. Impulsively and indignantly. It took you by surprise to hear such strong emotion come from someone so... stiff. You leaned back, resting your elbow on your knee as you gestured to Sumo.

"Then just come and pet him. You're not gonna die just cos you're lying dirty floor." You never thought you'd see the day where an android was so hesitant. With great pause Connor stiffened, and then knelt down, resting a hand on Sumo's head. You raised a hand to your mouth, trying to hide a giggle.

"You gotta go big, Connor." Shuffling closer on your knees, your arms wrapped around Sumo like you'd done a billion times before, blocking out the rest of the world as you squeezed. Sumo let out a quiet woof, and you raised your head with a bright smile, turning to look proudly at Connor.

"See! He likes..." You began, before cutting yourself off abruptly as your eyes fixed on Connors' face.

You'd never seen someone look so gentle. His brown eyes held the dog in a gaze full softness you'd only ever seen in films or tv shows. They flickered over Sumo's breathing form slowly. Or maybe time had just slowed down for you? Still staring, you noticed the short strand of black hair hung down onto his forehead. Looking at him now, it seemed the only bit of him that was asymmetrical. Yet still, it looked so perfect. Longer, you stared at his smooth skin, and the singular, subtle freckles you'd never noticed before, dotting his face. As your eyes traced lines between them like a constellation, your eyes fell to his lips. Just in time to see the corners perk up in a small, but genuine smile. Had Connor...

Had Connor always been this cute?

You felt your mouth go dry.

"He, uh... he... he likes..." You stuttered, feeling your cheeks grow warm as Hank let out a long, half-tired, half-disgusted moan. Your hand moved to cover your cheeks, but Connor seemed to hardly notice. He was far too preoccupied with Sumo.

"He's a good dog." You settled on, swallowing the dry feeling as you did your best to look anywhere else but at Connor.

"He is a good dog." Connor conceded, managing to catch you wandering eye with another smile, this time directed towards you.

Oh, good god, were you a goner.


	5. Guilt (Connor x Reader)

Emotions were a human trait. They influenced impulse and bad decision making. They affected what should be simple scenarios, they complicated situations and soured even the sweetest thing.

Emotions were a human trait, exclusive to their living species. But Connor wasn’t sure how else to explain how he felt.

How could he explain the energy that thrummed through his synthetic veins as his foot tapped rhythmically on the cold, linoleum floor? An action that could only be described as anxious.

How could he explain the glances he cast, across the way to the ever opening and closing ward door? Searching for the face of the doctor that had greeted him some few hours ago?

How else could he explain the pain? Pain, that he had never truly experienced before. Twisting his artificial insides at an agonizingly slow pace, like a dull knife. Tugging at his chest and dragging his thirium powered heart to the pit of his stomach. Squeezing, crushing his head like a clamp, forcing painful memories of hours prior back to the forefront of his mind.

How could he explain it, when he didn’t even know how to process it? When the world around him seemed muffled, and blurry, where could he go for clarity?

The only clear thing at that moment was the hand on his shoulder, and the repeat of a gunshot, over and over and over in his ear.

“It’s not your fault, Connor,” Hank tells him again, patting his back in a rare show of affection. Not that Connor really registers. It’s all far too much, with him trying to run diagnostics every second, searching for the source of this… imitated emotion.

Because that’s what it was. He couldn’t be feeling, he wasn’t made for that. So something had to be wrong. He had to have damaged himself in the fight, knocked something loose while he wasn’t paying attention.

God, why had he not been paying attention?

The first time he doesn’t look to the door as it opens is, unsurprisingly, the time the doctor finally decides to grace Connor with any news.

“They’re awake and ready to be-” Is all he manages to get out before Connor is on his feet, taking long strides towards the room he’d been aching to enter for far too long now. Even Hank calling his name, and the shout of the doctor does nor cause his step to falter. No, that does not happen till he enters the room.

Pale, early morning sunlight came through the blinds of the hospital room in broken streaks, falling on the pure white sheets singular bed positioned by the window. Sheets that clung to a weak, but breathing body.

You looked bad. But, he supposed most people who’d been shot did. Bandages wrapped around like the strap to a handbag over your right shoulder to under your left armpit, covering bloodied gauze and a bullet wound only a few centimetres from your collarbone. A bullet wound that could have been prevented. You hadn’t seemed to have noticed the commotion outside, nor his entrance, your eyes fixed on the window, peeking out into a courtyard through a half-drawn blind. You looked peaceful. At least you did, before he took a step forward, and shattered whatever trance had been keeping your eyes on the outside world.

Meeting your eyes was like coming face to face with a higher power. His knees went weak, nearly buckling when a smile pulled the corners of his lips up. Yet another diagnostic told him nothing was malfunctioning. Whatever damage he’d taken must have rendered him unable to assess himself. Yes, that had to be it.

“You’re… you’re okay.” The words are like a heavy punch to the gut, winding Connor before he can move any closer. You’d breathed it out with a level of relief he didn’t think was possible.

“Why… why would I not be?” He speaks, but it’s not words familiar to him- rather, it’s not a tone he knows. Strained, like he’s pushing a weight off his chest. And it only gets worse when you sit up, an eagerness to see him that he knows he does not deserve.

“The fight…” You trail off, and it’s to the effect of a blade dragging down his back. You push yourself up, palms flat on the bed as you made small noises of exertion. Connor took another step forward.

“You shouldn’t be moving. Rest.” His throat tightens as the corners of your mouth tilt up, amusement flickering in your eyes as you took on a teasing tone.

“Don’t tell me you’re worried.” You wait expectantly for some snarky or cold response, but there’s nothing. Resting a hand on a nearby chair, he leans and sighs. There was no point in speaking. He couldn’t deny it. He couldn’t lie like that right now. Watching his movements, your mouth dropped open a little, smile long gone.

“Connor-” Your eyebrows furrow, and you go to move a little more when his hand raises, stopping you in your tracks. You weren’t about to get up an hurt yourself again. Not when he had questions.

“I don’t understand.” He hates how shaky his voice is right now. He’s a detective. He’d seen humans die. He’d seen the almost. The before, the during and the after a billion times. This time should not have been any different. This one shouldn’t have warranted such a strong reaction.

“What?” Your voice is but a hushed whisper, laced with confusion. You were anxious. Of course, you were. He was not supposed to be acting this way.

“I don’t understand, why did you…” He trails off, hands trailing to his pocket, retrieving a cold metal coin, with which his fingers began to play with. Your eyes had moved down to your hands, clasped in your lap. For all his analytical ability, Connor, could not read a single expression on your face.

“Take the bullet?” You finish, and his fingers flinch, nearly dropping the coin altogether. Placing it back in his pocket, his fingers move instinctually to his tie.

“… Exactly,” He nods, finding some stability to his voice, but it doesn’t last long. “I can be rebuilt, but you are… fragile.” It’s your turn to sigh softly, as with some struggle you move, letting your feet dangle over the side of the bed. For a moment he’s worried you’re about to get up, but you sit still.

“You coming back doesn’t make it any less traumatic for me. Or Hank.” And there’s that coil again, tightening around his chest. He needs no breath, no air, but the compressions are the closest thing he can imagine to suffocating.

“C'mere.” Connor’s eyes snap up to meet yours again, but this time he finds your hand extended to him. Curling, signalling him closer. He feels he’s already overstayed his welcome, that the others- the humans, should get the chance to speak to you. But a part of him finds this opportunity to be too sweet. A part of him wants to be selfish. And for once, he lets that part take over.

It’s a short distance to where you sit, and he crosses it in a matter of seconds, stopping what he’d describe as close enough, and you’d describe as ‘leaving more than enough room for Jesus’. His hands go behind his back, standing to attention but for whatever reason, you don’t seem satisfied.

“Closer.” You say, both arms extended now. His throat closes up, but he follows his orders. Stepping forward, you’re now only an arm’s length away. He’s sure that suffices, but again, he’s wrong.

“A little closer.” You smile, fingers brushing his hands as you pull him in. It’s a good thing you do- for he can barely move. Locked up, the instructions he was sending weren’t going to the right places. His legs, his arms- they don’t respond. All that registers is the warmth of your hands as you hold his tight, staring up at his face with a gentle expression.

“I didn’t know an android could feel guilty.” You sound amused, and Connor fails to see the humour in the situation. You had been shot. Because he had not been concentrating on his mission. Because he had been distracted. You were hurt because of him. It should have been him- his body examined at some CyberLife facility.

That’s what he keeps telling himself, but it’s hard to keep his thought in line when your fingers begin to trail up his arm and over his shoulder, coming to rest on his cheek. Your thumb brushes along his cheekbone, and he swears he feels a shiver down his spine.

“Hank-” He begins, but you cut him off effectively with a swift movement of your thumb from his cheek to his bottom lip. Why, now, did his body seem to be overheating?

“Would have come in by now if he planned to.” You say, moving your other hand up to cup his other cheek. Thumb still resting on his lower lip, Connor fights the urge to lick his lips. He fights his urge to feel at all because he knows it’s too late. He’s feeling, and he had to put a stop to it before the situation escalated.

He can’t remember a time he’d been touched like this. He could barely remember positive physical contact at all. It was all fights, punches and kicks. A pat on the back or a hug from you or Hank, and then back to the fighting. This wasn’t like a hug, that was nowhere close to the definition of what was happening here, of what he was feeling.

Without a word you bring his head down, pressing your forehead to his with your eyes closed, breathing another long sigh of relief. At some point, his hands had found their way to your lower back, sitting there awkwardly as he stared at your serene face.

More specifically, he stares at your lips. Yes, he notices the few marks that dot your skin, and yes, he’d noted the colour of your eyes before they’d shut. But it was your lips that interested him the most. Slightly parted, inhaling and exhaling, quickened breath. A quick scan tells him your heart rate is higher than normal.

“I’m happy you’re okay.” You sound calm, while Connor can only make a soft sound of agreement in return. Eyes flickering open, the smile on your face tells Connor just what kind of expression he has on his face, and just before he can come up with an intelligible response, he’s silenced as you lift yourself up, pressing a gentle kiss to the bridge of his nose.

He’s shutting down. He’s sure of it. That’s why the world seems to be blacking out, or why every single motor, engine, scanner and what have you seemed to be malfunctioning, overheating, self-destructing. This was it. This was how he would die. At the hands of a kiss.

Your lips move up, kissing his forehead as his arms wrap their way fully around your back, seeking a comfort he did not know he needed until minutes- seconds, ago. Your hands threaded through his hair, and he feels utterly at your mercy. He wants to do something, to make up for the shot, the care you showed him now, but he’s at a loss, grasping at his memories of the few romance movies he’s seen. He can’t kiss you, for fear of ruining the moment by meeting your gaze. Or of inexperience- inadequacy. He can’t kiss your lips, so he opts for the closest thing.

The gasp that leaves you as he presses his lips to your neck is a wonderful one, and one he endeavours to hear more of as he does it again and again, soft pecks that grew passionate over a short course of time.

“Connor…” You breathe out, and it takes all his strength not to dig his nails into your skin when he hears his name on your lips like that. You were already injured enough, no need to cause any pain.

He pulls away, your hands back to his cheeks, his holding your waist. He doesn’t need a mirror to know his hair is a mess, that his tie is crooked, or his clothes ruffled. For the first time, he doesn’t even care.

“I’m happy you’re safe.” It’s not the most romantic thing he could have said, but you don’t seem to care one bit, looping your arms around the back of his neck before pulling him into a long-awaited, sweet- if clumsy, kiss.


	6. Fallen (Connor x Reader) [Pt 2]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a sequel requested, so here it is! Lemme know what you guys think!

Connor thought that by spending more time with you, by studying your words and your actions, he could come to the bottom of whatever was happening to him. Through research, as with all things, he was sure he could learn more. But a month on from your conversation together in the car, he was finding himself further from the answer every day.

He thought becoming deviant would at least help him, even just a little. After Markus, the revolution, he was finally open to these emotions. He was quick to learn that experiencing these feelings didn't mean he could understand them. No, that seemed harder than developing them in the first place.

More questions would only appear in his head. If he learned you liked a certain song, he wondered what it would be like to hear you sing. When you talk about your favourite drink, he tries to figure out how to make it for you every time, at the best quality. When you talk about your exes, he wonders what it would be like to date.

To date you.

That had been the thought running through his head, over and over for the last few hours. It was hard to concentrate on anything else, which would not have been such a pressing issue, were you not in the middle of a conversation with him.

"I'm just so over this winter, y'know? Give me summer! I want to be able to wake up feeling warm, instead of a miserable cold ball." You let out a long grumble, holding the steaming hot chocolate in your hands close to your chest. You'd both just finished working through some documents, and Connor had suggested a walk to clear your heads. His head, more specifically. Not that it was working.

He'd barely caught what you'd said, so Connor just nodded in agreement, hoping it would be enough. You tugged your coat a little tighter around your form, shuffling in your seat on the park bench. The snow had stopped falling, and more people were starting to come outside. In the distance, he could hear birds, children and people talking and yelling, car horns. But it was all distant, separated from the not-so-private privacy of your shared seat.

Connor didn't know when, but sometime between when he'd sat down and now, he'd moved closer to you. Your knees were almost touching. He nervously adjusted the cuff of his jacket.

"Anyway," You pulled your legs up and tucked them underneath you, facing him as you brought your drink close to your lips. "I've whined about absolutely nothing these past few minutes, I wanna hear about you. How are you doing?"

"How am I doing?" He asks, trying not to stare at your lips as you take a sip. It's hardly an easy question to answer. He supposes that the short answer would be-

"Strange." He says with a shrug, tearing his eyes away from your face and down to his lap. You seem to be thinking over his answer, in the corner of his eye he could see your finger tapping against your thigh.

"Figures. You've seemed stressed out lately," You say, with a rustle of clothing and a hum. "Do you want to talk about it?" That was like you. Not to pry, but gently prompt. Giving him plenty of space to back out, even though he knew you were likely dying to know

"Y/N have you ever... been in love?" As he speaks he looks back up, meeting your eyes just in time to catch your surprise. There's a falter as you think, and before you speak. Your brow creases and you shake your head.

"With my exes? I... don't know..." You answered, in a quiet voice. Connor blinks.

"You don't know?" How could you not know? You'd lived with emotions your whole life, you of all people would have been the person he'd think that would understand this well. You were the one always handing out advice.

"Yeah, which makes me think I had never been." You laugh a little at the end, but it's hollow and Connor can feel his face blanching at your statement.

"Oh," He says, feeling his expression twist to a frown. "But you've dated people." It's a statement more than a question, but you still answer it in the form of an unhelpful shrug.

"Yeah, because I liked them. But like isn't enough in a relationship." You try to explain, but Connor can't quite get his head around it.

"It's not?" He asks, and you shake your head, staring at the ground.

"No, it's." You shuffle your position once more, biting your lip as you thought over your next words.

"When you- When like someone, you bring them things. Treats, drinks, gifts. Stuff to make them happy. You're there for the good moments, the dates, the good moods. When you love someone, you understand they can't be happy all the time, but you're still there. Even when they're not smiling." You take a breath, setting your cup on the ground. Connor thinks you're finished when you keep talking.

"Love is... so many things. It's standing with someone after their entire way of life has changed. Their direction, their purpose. Because you know it doesn't matter so long as they're healthy and happy. But it- it's also blinding. When you love someone you trust them in their decisions, even when you're so... so worried for them," You sigh, and rub an eye with your hand tiredly, on a full rant now, and Connor can feel himself freezing up, unmoving, unable to process the sudden, thundering beat of his heart.

"Even when they decide the best course of direction is to break into the CyberLife headquarters without telling you because they've joined a revolution- and- and you're so terrified that you feel sick because you know, however many times he's said that he can't-" Your eyes snap up to his.

"You don't want to see him die." There's a silence between you two that Connor cannot hear over the sound of his rapid breathing. His toes and fingers, curled inward tighter and tighter were beginning to ache after each word you spoke. He was a frozen figure, utterly powerless 

"Does that... does that make sense?" You ask in a shaky voice, pursing your lips and Connor, who'd been rendered paralyzed, could do nothing to stop himself from capturing your worried lips with his.

Yes, he understood now. He understood the ache in his chest when he watched you try to convince your other co-workers to join you in a wheely chair race. He understood the lift of his heart when you'd asked him to come over so you could vent about your shitty ex-boyfriend. He understood the jump in his chest when he'd first watched a romance film, with you, leaned against his shoulder telling awful jokes, trying to distract him from the passionate kissing on the screen.

He'd only been kissing you a few seconds, when you'd reached up to cup his cheeks, breaking the connection of your lips with uncontrollable giggles of shock.

"Oh my god." You breathe out, and he opens up his eyes to find you staring at him with stars in your eyes.

"Oh my god, you're so cute. I love you." He knows it, but that doesn't stop the reeling shock that runs through his body when he hears you say it aloud. In an instant his arms are around your back, pulling you closer.

"I love you, I love you so much." You're repeating, hands holding his chin as you pepper small pecks across his face and lips, before tucking your face into the crook of his neck in embarrassment, which doesn't last long.

"Holy shit, you're warm!" You exclaim, proceeding to snuggle closer to him. He's tempted to make a joke about you using him for warmth but decides against it. 

"I love you too." He mumbles in what is almost a laugh. Hearing his own voice say it is a weight off of his back as he holds you close, hands resting gently on your back as he shuts his eyes.

"I'm in love with you." He whispers, finally at a point where he can happily admit it aloud.


	7. Thirst (Connor x Reader)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a joke fic suggested by my friends ashjadds sorry if it sucks

Taking your best friend to work wasn’t exactly the best idea you’d ever had. A police station could be a dangerous place, and she could be disruptive at times. But with 10 minutes left in your shift, and the snow building on the pavement outside, you weren’t inclined to just leave her out there.

Yes, it wasn’t a good idea. But not for the reasons you thought.

You’d been filing a report, finishing off your work before you could leave to go and drinks with her when you were distracted in the only way you ever were at work.

Connor came in. And that was normally enough to make you abandon all efforts with work immediately. But this time, this time you could not stop your mouth from hanging open. It was Connor, looking like a mess. His hair was every-which-way, clothes ruffled but not damaged, the top buttons of his shirt open. If he could sweat, you were sure he would be right now. He seemed to have run inside.

“Uhh.” You blank as he stops by a desk near to you and your friend, setting down papers and running his hands through his messy hair, giving you a small caniption as you sat in your chair. There weren’t many people left in the office, and you thought for a moment you may have gone through your spasm without notice when you notice a painfully familiar, cheeky smile in the corner of your eye. No. Oh no, she wou-

"You're so thirsty Y/N.” Your friend snorts loudly, not making a single effort to lower her voice. You gave her a sharp look, side-eyeing the room nervously. Again, nobody had seemed to of overheard as you looked subtly around, swivelling slowly in your chair. You thought you’d actually gotten away with it, when your eyes locked with Connor, standing up straight, staring. His LED flickering. Oh no.

“I overheard that you were thirsty, but after having conducted a scan, I believe that you are not in need of hydration.” You cringe and lower yourself into your seat as you nod, trying to keep a polite smile on your face as your friend promptly lost her shit in her chair, prompting a head tilt from Connor. Your cheeks flushed, and oh God, as your eyes trailed to his chest, you noted that he still hadn’t buttoned his shirt up.

"Not that kind of thirsty.” She tells him, smirking at you with a raised eyebrow. You give her no satisfaction. You don’t say a word. You’re already shutting down your computer and standing up, ready to leave this situation and continue your breakdown somewhere else.

“I have not been informed of any other form of thirst.” Connor, bless him, seems so very interested in what your friend has to say. Today, however, was the day his questions would be left unanswered as your hand clamped around your friend's wrist, physically removing her from the precinct.

“Sorry, Connor, we gotta go! See you, bye, bye-bye! See you!” You spluttered out before either he or your friend can say anything else. Quickly darting off with your bag and your friend to the safety of outside, aching to freeze the burning feeling in your cheeks with the freezing Detroit air.

“That was great.” Your friend tells you as you get outside. The nip of the cold bites harsh, and you’re quick to cover your cheeks with your hands.

“Screw you.” You shoot back, powerless to stop your mind from reeling. The windy winter did nothing to cool the heat in your face as your mind replayed that beautiful, wonderful image over and over again in your head. You let out a long groan.

Stupid, sexy Connor.


	8. Alone (Connor x Reader)

All you wanted was a peaceful morning tea. A quiet morning tea. Where you could drink some coffee, eat a muffin and relax in the breakroom. You'd just finished with an investigation and were ready for the break which you felt you so honestly deserved. Of course, fate wasn't about to let it be that way.

When Gavin and his friend had walked in you'd barely noticed him. Running on no sleep after staying up all night reading his idiot comments in the case report had left you in a bad mood, and you wanted nothing more than to keep your distance from the slimy excuse for a person. He'd opted for one side of the breakroom, and he'd opted for the other. That was fine by your book. The less time you had to spend staring at his stupid face was time well spent.

It looked like Gavin was set on wasting everyone's time this morning.

You hadn't really paid attention to the android when it walked in, too busy trying to substitute what warmth your drink was giving you in turn of the bed you wished you were curled up in. You'd heard about him. He was Connor, he was working with Hank, he wasn't your problem.

Gavin seemed hellbent on changing that.

"Get me a coffee." Was the first thing you registered, turning just in time to see his fingers prod against Connor's chest. You could've sworn you'd seen him flinch, a twitch of the lips, but when you blink his face is expressionless again. You really were too tired for this.

"Gavin!" You shout from your table, drawing the attention of all 3 people in the room. You didn't want to start a conflict, but you were not about to let Gavin ruin anything else today. Pursuing your lips, fueled by the anger from his shitty report, you spoke in a voice soaked with irritation.

"You're like 38 years old. Do you not know how to make one yourself?" Gavin most certainly was not that old, and you most certainly knew that. And while that normally would have been enough incitement for him to change targets, he seemed intent on bullying one android today.

"Stay out of this," He spits as he speaks and it's disgusting, you can feel your stomach feeling as he pokes another finger to Connors' chest, with more force this time.

"You- get me a fucking coffee," Gavin says with all the charisma of a dead, bloated fish. You're stepping up from your chair, ready to snap at him when Connor brushes down his shirt, holding the detective in a cold, dismissive stare.

"I'm sorry, I only take orders from Lieutenant Anderson." He says in a voice that's nearly smug. You can't help but smile, you didn't know androids could be programmed like this. And evidently, neither did Gavin as his lips curled into a snarl, a bitter laugh leaving his lips.

"Oh? Is that right?" You're ready for Gavin to make some dumb quip, but not ready for what happens next. His fingers curl into a fist, and before you can shout a warning to Connor, he'd fired off his first and only punch, bringing the android to his knees.

The sound is more sickening to you than when a human is punched. A thud of a fist on plastic, and a whirr of motors that put your hairs on end. Especially in tandem with the way he was clutching his stomach. Maybe it was the fact that you knew he could not fight back that made you so ill.

He couldn't fight back.

But you could.

"Asshole!" The scream that left you was raw, made of unbridled anger as you launched yourself forward, your feet moving a threaten pace across the hard floor of the kitchen. There's a flash of fear in Gavin's eyes as you grab the collar of his shirt.

"I told you to-" Your hands plant themselves on his chest, shoving him backwards violently, into a pillar. His friend, still in their seat seemed unsure of whether to flee. Your venom filled voice seemed to solidify that decision.

"Fuck do you want me to do? Sit here and pretend you aren't trying to pick a fight for the sake of it? Why are you so angry? Did your mom lock up your Xbox when you got home? Did you lose some good boy points?" As you spat poisonous words, Gavin struggled to his feet, an anger of his own flashing in his eyes.

"I don't know what the fuck you think you're doing-" He growled, clenching his fists again, but again, you give him no chance to speak as you shove him against the pillar, keeping him there with one hand on his collarbone.

"And I don't know how you've got through life this far without getting stabbed in the neck but I am willing to break that record right now if you don't back. The fuck. Off." With each word, your grip tightened, your tone a dangerous whisper on the wind. But he could hear you, you could tell by

"You wouldn't." He managed to say, not sounding even slightly confident in his words. Your jaw clenched.

"I'd do it in a heartbeat, Gavin. It would be the highlight of my entire fucking life." He stays quiet. From fear or from the fact that you were crushing his windpipe. You took it as answer enough, letting him go as you made quick progress back to your table to fetch your papers.

"Take this while you're at it." You say, turning with a vicious smile to see him rubbing his throat. Walking back with long strides, you shove it into his chest, raising your voice.

"This report is as barren and meaningless as your sex-life. I didn't understand a single point you were trying to make. Learn how to do your job, and stop picking on others cos you're insecure about the size of your dick."

"You-!" There's a resurgence of rage that you quickly push away as you physically push him towards the bullpen and his friend, and as far away from you as possible. He seems to hesitate for a moment. Like he was actually contemplating trying to start something before his sense comes back to him.

The moment he's gone it's like someone's lifted a foot off your chest. The stress from before seems gone you don't need to worry about work. You don't need to worry about Gavin. It's just you, the break room and your breakfast.

You felt a tap on your shoulder, and rescinded your last statement. You, the break room, your breakfast and an android.

You turn around, finding yourself face to face with a crisp white dress shirt, black tie and ironed jacket. You have to tilt your head up to meet his eyes. Fucking hell, he was tall.

"Uh..." You're not quite sure what to say. What do you say to a person who just witnessed you threatening a coworker? Nothing was the answer, as your eyes looked at his face, trying to suss out just one emotion. But all you find are perfect brows, clear skin and a pair of eyes far too warm to be human. You're stunned into silence before he opens his mouth to speak.

"Hello. I'm Connor." You're sure from the times you'd overheard him introduce himself that he always took longer, but that thought melts away when you see the soft smile on his face.

"H-Hi, I'm Detective Y/N." You stutter, feeling your heart clench as he extends a hand to take yours, shaking it gently. All you can concentrate on is how warm it feels.

"Sorry about Reed, a-and my behaviour." You cringe internally. Of course, this is the first impression you gave the hot android. Of course. He takes away his hand you feel dissatisfied with the sudden cold.

"I antagonized him, you simply reacted," He said, placing his hands behind his back before he paused.

"Not... many humans I know would go such lengths for a machine. So I am curious..."He trails off, and you can feel an acute heat rising in your cheeks, and your sweat on your palms.

"Ah, gotta take any chance to beat up Gavin. Y'know?" You say with a weak half-laugh. That was half true, you supposed. You didn't want to have to explain the disgust in your stomach at Gavin's violence, but with the way his eyes nearly made Connor look disappointed, you jumped at the chance to make this stranger happy.

"Also I- You don't deserve to be treated like that. Especially not here. It was... distressing to me." You explained, avoiding his gaze, missing the flickering yellow LED on the side of his head, and the subsequent look he gave. No, you only heard Connor clear his throat.

"I... understand." He said with a tilted head, and you got the feeling he didn't understand at all. Standing in heavy silence you felt the heat spread uncomfortably from your cheeks to your body, your eyes flickering to your abandoned breakfast, before going back to Connor's handsome face.

"I should go talk with Lieutenant Anderson." He says out of the blue, taking a step to the open archway. You notice him falter a moment, turning his head where you finally caught the flickering LED on the side of his head.

"It was... It was nice meeting you." He said with the hint of a smile, before ducking his way through the arch, walking towards the bullpen. Leaving you exactly how you'd wanted to be 20 minutes earlier. Alone.

The exhaustion you'd been feeling before began to sink back into your bones. Thoughts of how exactly you'd be punished by Captain Fowler flooded your mind as you went to sit back down with your food, though not a single emotion you felt was tinged with regret.

Giddiness. Something you hadn't felt since you were in high school, with a crush on a cute boy in your English class. It didn't make up for energy lost, no, but it did make your muffin a little more sweet, and your coffee just a little bit warmer. And the image of Connor's pretty face in your mind just a tad clearer. A smile played its way onto your lips.

No, you didn't regret any of what just happened. And you were a 100% sure you never would.


	9. Not Connor (Connor RK800-60 x Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Based on an idea where the fake Connor at CyberLife escapes destruction and hides with reader after the real Connor is killed while trying to turn the other androids.

He's Not Connor.

You make that clear the moment you agree hide him in your house. After the fighting settled, and Markus' revolution was a success. He still doesn't know why you let him in. Maybe because you were good like that. A good person, who got a job on the force to protect the people, who sided with the android cause when met with signs of injustice. Maybe because you took pity on him. He who was made and betrayed in a single day, constructed with the purpose to be destroyed once he'd killed his other, deviant self.

Maybe because it was easier to forget the man you loved was dead with him around.

He's Not Connor, but he has Connor's memories. Memories of when he joined you and Hank on the investigation. When you went out with him for a long drive to get the layout for a deviant case and ended up talking till the early hours of the morning. Memories of working together to take down deviants, and then working together to help build their cause back up again. Memories of the moments where you both fell in love.

He's Not Connor, he's a machine designed to carry out a task. That's what he told you when you first met, pointing a gun at Hanks head, threatening to kill and destroy everything you had ever held dear to your heart.

He's Not Connor, and you tell him that nearly every day. With each warm smile he never sees and every gentle touch he'll never get, he turns closer and closer to deviancy. The irony would be amusing did it not hurt so sharply, when you talked to him with curt words and stared at him with piercing eyes.

He's Not Connor. Because Connor died at CyberLife Tower, along with any chance he had at ever knowing reciprocated love.

He's Not Connor, but with every second that ticks by, with every thought that passes, you both find yourself with an aching wish that he was.


	10. Tears (Connor x Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Request: "Fic idea: Connor says I love you and the reader just starts crying"

Lazy Sundays were always the best thing to you. Lying in bed, letting the sun fan across your bed-sheets and bare skin, or wrapping up to block out the cold and the noise of bustling Detroit. Sundays were good for staying in, and it was only recently that you'd convinced Connor to think the same way.

He didn't need sleep, but he still tried it. Lying in bed with your head on his chest as he ran tentative fingers through your hair. Everything was still new, and he was still learning how to be this intimate. Testing boundaries, trying things out. He found he liked moments like these the most. Peaceful, without having to worry about deviants or police work or danger. He could just lie in bed, with his arms around your form, listening to the steady sound of your breath.

You weren't a picture of grace, maybe that was true. Leaning on his arm with an open mouth, drool trickling onto the pillow, a gentle snore rumbling in your chest. You weren't a picture of grace, no, but that didn't stop the ache in his heart when he watched you stir, or his lips from ghosting your forehead as you mumbled an exhausted 'good morning'.

Yes, this wasn't what he was intended to do. So far from his manufactured purpose of hunting and killing. If Amanda could see him now, he's sure she would be taken by rage, ordering him to cease and desist. His display would flicker, show errors across his eyes with walls blocking every movement. Those were things of a distant past now, somehow that makes this moment all the sweeter.

"Good morning." He says in a voice maybe a little too loud as you cringe, lifting a hand over your eyes with a long groan. He feels a smile pulling onto his face, a hand moving to thread itself in your tangled hair. Humans, so messy and strange. Emotionally he could feel himself becoming like them every day. It was a frightening process, but not a necessarily bad one. A display came up as he quickly checked the weather forecast, traffic, and every other thing he could likely turn on the news for.

"The temperature is 9°." He tells you as you curl into him, fists tightening around the night-shirt that he only ever wore for aesthetics. You let out another long whine, and he has to stop himself from laughing as he kisses your forehead again.

This sort of intimacy was what he loved. Tender and light, comforting and gentle. Sighing heavily, you shifted in his arms, trying to get closer and warmer.

"I'm not getting up." You tell him with what he assumes is supposed to be a serious tone, played down by the yawn that escapes you mid-sentence. He knows there's no point in trying to convince you otherwise, you'd find a way to make him stay. 

"I know." He tells you, as you finally find a place to settle on his arm. His face is centimetres from yours, and in the light of the late morning, he can see every mark, every freckle. The bags under your eyes, the gentle knit of your brows as you stare at him with an adoration he only now knows how much he appreciates. Your breath fans his face, as your hand rubs sleep away with clumsy, exhausted movements. Though he doesn't need to, his breath still catches. His chest still constricts, and he cannot seem to look anywhere else.

"I love you." He breathes it out like a prayer, feeling his blue blood rising to his cheeks as he does. For a moment he thinks it was too quiet for you to have heard, or that you were too tired to even register it at all. These hopes are dashed as he watches your eyes well up with tears, a hand going to your mouth.

His servos whirring, panic rising in every part of him as you begin to cry. He's never done this before, but he knows that this is certainly not the reaction one was supposed to get. Not to a confession. He must have done something wrong, maybe he had moved too quick? His brain tries to recall memories, advice Hank gave him, anything to rectify this situation that he most definitely had ruined.

"I'm sorry, I-" He begins, unable to keep the slight hurt out of his voice before he's cut off by your arms wrapping around him, your face burying into your neck. He's silent from the shock more than anything as you speak, your speech in broken sobs.

"I-I'm s-s-sorry I'm just," You break into another fit of what sounds to be a mix of sobs and laughter. A quick scan shows that you're showing some signs of shock. When you pull away, one of your hands goes to cup his cheek, the other covering your face which he can see is red in embarrassment. "I didn't expect this- I'm so c-caught off g-guard- fuck. I do love you- s-so much and-and I'm so happy." You hiccup, laughing a little at your absurd outburst. 

Connor laughs too, though it's a little forced and nervous. He can't help but stress about the utterly terrifying feelings that had settled in his stomach and chest. He knows you wouldn't do that- you wouldn't hurt him, but logic wasn't so easy to follow with his muddled thoughts and emotions, dirtying the water and muddying his mind. Things are clearer when he feels your fingertips brush his, grounding him for the moment.

"You had me worried there for a second." He confesses, the stress leaving him in a shaky breath. Wiping your eyes you shake your head, running a thumb along his index finger, an apologetic look in your eyes.

"Oh god, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you worry." Your thumb goes, lightly touching his shoulder before coming up to brush his cheekbone, and he leans into the touch. There's a pause as you kiss his forehead and then his cheek, the corner of his mouth. He shivers at the touch, all the more sensitive with your confession so recently on your lips. When you pull away, he can't help but notice you sniffle.

"It's okay. Are you okay?" He asks as you wipe more tears, nodding and waving a hand nonchalantly with another giggle.

"I'm fine, I'm b-being dumb. I'm dumb." You tell him as his hands move, touching your face now as he brushes away stray tears and strands of hair, pulling the covers further up around your shoulders, wrapping you up.

"You're not dumb," He says with a sweet sincerity. "You've... you've made me happy." He knows his face is likely a dark blue at this point, but it's hard to care, with the dreamy smile you have on your face.

"Are you happy?" He's sure you are, but there's something tugging at him that makes him ask. A need for assertion- validation that he had yet to shake since finally parting himself from Amanda. You shake your head with another laugh, arms moving around his neck to pull him into a long and passionate kiss. Connor feels his head spin with the force you put, teeth clacking against his, a hand lazily tugging at a few strands of his hair.

"You have no idea." You breathe, parting for a moment kiss his nose, before pulling him in again, nipping softly at his bottom lip.

Lying in bed all Sunday was always fun, but then again it's hard to top a morning spent in the arm of someone you love with all your heart.


	11. Hi-Fail (Connor x Reader)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Request: Can you write something on the lines of reader and Connor (maybe Hank too) accomplishing a task, and reader is extremely enthusiastic about it, so they go in for a high-five with Connor, and Connor's like.. "What?" And they have to maybe explain it to him, aaannd I'll stop gushing now just thinking about it haha 
> 
> A/N: It's a bit short, apologies. Also I feel like Connor would know what a hi-five is but the imagery was far too funny for me.

Warnings: None  
A/N: It's a bit short, apologies. Also I feel like Connor would know what a hi-five is but the imagery was far too funny for me.

-

Connor was a state of the art CyberLife creation. Smarter than any human, deadlier than anyone or anything you'd encountered. He had reflexes so quick that you'd often miss his movements in fights, and an ability to improvise that matched even the best operatives on the field. Connor was, for lack of words, an efficient and dangerous killing machine.

So why, for the love of god, had he been programmed with such an awkward understanding of human interaction?

You tell what you think is a pretty funny joke and crack up into laughter, only for him to sit and stare at you blank faced. You sling an arm around his shoulders for a half-hug goodbye, and he freezes on the spot like he has a gun pointed to his head.

You walk out of work with a cheer and let your shoulders drop, opening your arms to a day free of work and raising a hand to hi-five him for a successfully finished case.

And he stares.

And stares.

And looks utterly confused.

"You gonna leave me hanging?" You ask, waving your raised hand a little as he stares at it, clearly pulling up blanks.

"I don't think I understand." He tells you, and you feel your stomach drop into your gut. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see people staring at your still raised hand, and with heat starting to flood your cheeks and neck, you lowered it just a tad.

"Do you- Do you not know how to hi-five?" You ask lowly, watching as Connors' eyes flickered for a moment. You assumed he was going through his memory banks or some special android Google. It was only a second or two before his eyes focused on your face once more, a hand going to adjust his tie.

"Of course I do." He says in the least convincing voice you've ever heard. Indignant, and a bit embarrassed as you wave your hand a little, giving him a shrug.

"Okay," You say, drawing out the 'a' as you tried your hardest not to smile at his awkwardness. You don't relent, moving your open palm closer. "Then give me a hi-five."

Connor is silent, and you can see the confliction on his face. Most people seemed to have luckily stopped staring, but that didn't make the situation any less stilted as his hand raised up, lighting a spark of hope

You nearly thought he knew what he was doing, and steadied yourself. You'd seen the force he's put into simple movements and were preparing what was likely going to be a painful, plastic hi-five.

At least, until he pressed his palm and fingers against yours in a vulcan-esque hand hug, staring

"There." He says, with a sureness in his voice that nearly sends you to heaving laughter. He was so positive that this was what you meant, that this was an actual thing human people did. Were it any other friend you'd be screaming, cackling and teasing them endlessly, but you couldn't with Connor. He was too endearing. Especially with that cute expression on his face.

"Yep," You say with a nod, voice strained with how hard you're trying not to laugh in his face. He's very lucky Hank isn't here. All he would have had to of done was make eye contact with you and you would be a goner. A breathless, sobbing mess on the ground.

"Perfect. Got it in one." You take a deep breath, and Connor tilts his head. God dammit why had he not let go yet? You weren't exactly complaining but-

"Your voice sounds strained. Are you alright" He asks, still keeping his hand pressed to yours. Your lips purse and you shake your head, tears beginning to form in your eyes. He's so cute, and you want to tell him that. You're not sure he'd appreciate it, what with him being an adult man with a serious and intense job but- God, you can't put it any other way. All his quirks and his tricks- he's so cute.

"I'm fine. I've never been so- I'm-" You attempt to put it into words but simply cannot. It's beyond you now. It's too much. You're shaking your head.

"Let's go talk to Hank." You say, pulling your hand from his. Some part of you missed the cool feeling of his artificial skin, but you know it's for the better. Any longer and you would have snapped, and possibly said something you'd regret.

"About the case?" He asks, starting to walk as you move into a small sprint. Trying to keep up with his long strides after such an ordeal was difficult.

"Just- About so many things Connor." You tell him, raising a hand to wipe your eyes.

"So many things."


	12. Help (Daniel x Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Holy shit guys it's my first non Connor x reader for this booklet ahsjjs. The canon has been changed a bit for this, but regardless! I hope you enjoy! I might continue this is ppl like it!

Tranquil was the last word you thought you'd ever use to describe Detroit.

The city was a maze of machinery and chatter, with towering buildings and clusters of cars. People flooded the streets looking for a place to go to lunch or buy their clothes and trinkets. And when areas were empty? It was never a feeling similar to peace. Unease, displacement was more accurate. Jumping at shadows in flickering lamplight and staring too deeply into damp, rubbish-filled alleyways.

No, Detroit was rarely tranquil. So when the quiet moments arose, you were always quick to snatch them up. And you were so lucky to have found such a moment on a night like this.

The gardens near your house were always a favoured destination, especially with the sky as clear as it was tonight. With winter approaching soon, you wanted to make the most of the August while you could, walking through the withering trees. In such darkness, you could not see the vibrant golds and coppers painting the leaves of trees decades old. You were blessed with small glimpses of colour under each streetlight and glowing sign, lit up posters juxtaposing the gentleness of nature, advertising products and brands burned into your mind through their gaudy lettering and offensive colouring.

The sound was nothingness, save for the crunch of twigs of underfoot and leaves rustling in weak breezes. You could hear your own breathing with every step you took, trekking a pre-made path of concrete and brick. You could come to a stop

The silence and solitude were louder than words, making it all the more chilling when it was interrupted by fast footsteps and a blood-curdling cry for help.

You swivel on the spot, ready to defend yourself from whatever mugger or attacker is running your way, only to freeze on the spot as your eyes lock on the figure, and his flashing red LED.

Under the streetlight he joins you, leaning against the pole for support. Illuminated you can see the man- the android in his full, unnervingly tattered state. Blonde hair, a fear-stricken face, and a uniform splattered in blue blood, seeping from a wound on his shoulder.

"H-Help, please help-" He begs you in a shaky voice that makes your knees weak in pity. For the first time in the past 30 seconds, you take a breath.

Deviants. You'd heard of them- rumours mainly. Androids who malfunction, disobey orders from their owners. Who hurt the humans that claim them as property. They're dangerous, you heard. Sometimes even murderers. The distant sound of police sirens and shouts do nothing to help his case. You take a cautionary step back, raising your hands in defence.

"Are they looking for you?" You ask him, eyes travelling to the cut in his clothes. To have cut through plastic and metal like that, it had to be up close. Violent. If anything, it looked painful.

"They-They were going to replace me-" He began, looking anxiously between you and the lights, which were beginning to look not-so-distant. He swallowed, looking ready to run.

"I tried to leave but he- I-I swear I didn't hurt anyone!" There's a terror in his voice that is too human for you to ignore, twisting your heartstrings. Your hands lower, as the shouts get closer, and he offers you a pleading look.

"Please, they'll destroy me, I-I don't wanna die." His voice breaks, and it's all the convincing you need as your hand shoots out to grab his wrist, alarming him as you pulled him off the path, near a large line of nicely cut hedges.

"I know a shortcut- this way. Come with me." You thank whatever god may be listening that you'd visited the park enough times to know its layout. Hopefully better than the police officers about to swarm the area.

The android is silent as you lead and tug him through bush after bush, darting through trees and over footpaths as the noises that defined the chaos you'd been trying to escape grew quieter and quieter.

And then they were gone. And you were in an empty street, mere steps away from your apartment as you led him to the entrance, ushering him up the stairs and into your tiny home.

You finally draw breath when your door clicks shut behind you, locking instantly. The sound ripping you from your panic clouded mind, as sense flooded your brain. Your back hit the front door as your hands threaded through your hair, a long, strained groan leaving your lips.

What had you just done?

You'd broken the law. You'd helped a wanted man evade the police. You were harbouring a likely fugitive- a god damned deviant in your own home. He was sitting on your floor now, head tilted back against the wall with a hand covering his mouth in shock, blood still trickling from his open cut.

"Shit." You swore, dropping down to your knees as you tore your scarf from your neck. He flinched at the sudden movement, looking mortified as you shuffled forward, unravelling the woollen accessory in your hands.

"Does it hurt?" He doesn't speak, only shaking his head, breathing hard as his eyes watch you dress his wound, slow and gentle. Fingers brushing his skin and clothing lightly. You'd need to buy some harsh chemicals to get the thirium out of your carpet, but that was the least of your worries right now.

"What's your name?" You ask as you tie the scarf off in a knot, satisfied with the slightly bulky makeshift bandage. That seemed as good a place to start as any.

"Daniel," He tells you after a long silence. It's almost inaudible with how quiet he's whispering. "I'm Daniel."He doesn't even look at you, a gaze fixed downwards, staring at nothing and everything.

"Daniel..." You repeat, eyes trailing over his worn form. Up close you could see the tears ripped through his clothing, a pure white half-soaked in a sickening blue. It's a horrific sight, but not one nearly as traumatic as his expression, marked with a pain that's source could only be internal, it's only visible outlet in the window of his sullen, grey eyes.

Whatever he had been through, it had been hell. Hell far worse than you could likely imagine. And you knew, with a sinking, stomach-churning feeling, that if CyberLife or the police found him, it would be a hell that would come to an abrupt and unjust end.

Your fingers moved to his un-injured shoulder, curling and holding it in a firm grip. Were you to learn any closer, your foreheads would be touching, but he barely seemed to notice, or care. You gave him quick shake, and his eyes snapped up to meet yours.

"I'm Y/N..." You tell him, your free hand moving slowly, hesitantly to rest on one of his curled fists.

"And I... I'm going to help you." You said, finding a growing and steady determination in your tone.

"I promise that I'll help you."


	13. Feelings (Connor x Reader)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is inspired by my want to portray the asshole non-deviant side of Connor.

Your feelings towards androids had always been complicated. Helpers to society, destroyers of the economy. Personable technology and demons of the uncanny valley. Submissive and unthreatening, to loud and dangerous. Like humans, you supposed, your feelings towards androids would fluctuate. And that was just as a whole. When it came to individuals, the waters only got muddier.

Connor was uncomfortable to talk to and awkward to watch, and then he was funny to listen in on and cute to look at. But then he was a dangerous person to anger, capable of quick and efficient take-downs and bloody fighting techniques. He was an other. A figure with no emotions you were simply working a job with. Then he was a friend. Scared, confused and overwhelmed by the moral choices he'd only recently started to understand.

He had captured your heart, wholly and truly over a matter of days.

But right now, he was an utter asshole, who posed a bigger threat to Detroit than the so-called criminal deviants he was hunting.

"Connor!" Your voice, broken and laced with hurt cut through the whistling wind and flurries of snow. The same snow that had held you up minutes before when you threw yourself from Hank's stuck car, sprinting down empty Detroit streets with Hank's yells in the background, swallowed by the sound of your feet on the pavement and heavy breathing. Feet that had dragged you up countless stairs and out a metal door to a freezing rooftop.

Feet that had dragged you desperately towards him.

It was hard to see, but he was there. In between the dark and specks of snow was his figure, perched at the edge of the building, knelt down, with a sniper on his shoulder. You'd have appreciated how defined and attractive he looked, was he not in the middle of attempting murder, and subverting history's entire course.

"Connor-" You walked forward 10 paces when he stuck out his hand. Palm first, a signal to stop. There was a fluid, programmed feeling to the movement, and it twisted unease into your stomach.

"Y/N," He said your name with a sharpness that only served to heighten your anxiety. His head turned, and briefly, you could see his eyes. A harsh brown, with the determination of a man who could not be stopped. His brow creased as he noted you standing there, alone. No weapon, no anything. "What are you doing?"

It was a good question, and one you were asking yourself. What were you doing? Connor was doing his job. Your job, Hanks job. Stopping the Deviants, ending the rebellion. Making things go back to the way they used to be. When you'd first joined the case, that was the end goal. And you were 

"Stopping you... I think?" You offered him a half smile and a shrug in a weak attempt to defuse the tension. You could see Connor's jaw clench as he held you in a cold stare, lasting a few more seconds before he turned back, grip tightening on the sniper rifle. In all honesty, you had no plan. You were leaving that part up to Hank up until you all but abandoned him. You were starting to regret that now.

"It's too late. You can't. This is what I was made to do." His finger trailed to the trigger, and you could feel your heart jump to your throat and your stomach drop to your gut. No, this couldn't happen. You had to stop him-distract him somehow.

"But- But what if it wasn't?" You asked, taking two more steps forward. Whether it was your words or your movement, you caught his attention. Turning to face you, his fingers momentarily left the gun. The sigh of relief that left you was audible even to your own ringing ears.

"What?" For an android that supposedly felt no emotion, he sure did sound pissed. You'd seen him like this before, during interrogations. Back then you were just happy he was on your side. Now you weren't sure how to feel.

"What if you could be something else, something more?" You took a step forward and watched him flinch. There couldn't have been more than a few meters between you two, but he felt a million miles away. You watched his face contort into disgust.

"Like what? A deviant?" It was your turn to flinch at his raising voice, your foot moving back on instinct. You tried to shake your head and disagree, but he wasn't having it.

"I don't mean-" He stands, and takes two steps forward, sending a chilling, fearful shiver up your spine. Your body locks up, you cannot move as he yells- shouts at you.

"You've seen what they do, Y/N! What they think. They aren't people, they're things." The rifle is with him, shaking nearly as violently as you are as he speaks. You try to calm yourself, assure yourself that you were buying Markus more time. That Connor wouldn't hurt you, because that wasn't who he was.

"What? Like you? Are you just a thing? An object? Plastic and wires?" A sudden surge of adrenaline pushes you forward a few feet, and this time Connor does not step back. Holding his ground he watches as you approach, stopping a few arms lengths away. There's a fire in your eyes, and a burn to your frustrated words as you argue, the hope of an entire people in your hands.

"Newsflash, asshole!" You shout, throwing up your arms before letting them drop to your sides as you point, wishing you were close enough to poke his chest.

"You're not one to me!" He's quiet as you speak, and you can see the LED on the side of his head flickering. Yellow, blue, yellow, blue. It's a good sign, you tell yourself as he finds his words. Just not the ones you want to hear.

"I'm a machine, I don't feel-"

"We both know that's bullshit." It was your turn to interrupt, your tone was firmer, sterner than you thought. Than you felt. How you managed to sound steady with what felt like your entire life on the line was something you'll never know.

"No-" He tried to argue but you were over it, over his stupid denials. He could say that however many times he wanted, but you knew the truth. You knew what you'd seen- What he'd trusted you to see and know about him.

"What about at the broadcasting tower? With the deviant on the roof?" He flinched, and you could tell his memory processors were replaying the scene. The deviants final memories, before blasting itself through the head. His vented worries, and the comfort you gave him in the drive to the station afterwards. His LED flickered once more, but this time you could see a distinct, glowing red.

"That-" He began, but you kept going. Kept walking, closer and closer as you spoke.

"You were scared, Connor. You told me that yourself. When we were alone you said you were scared of death, of becoming a deviant- You were feeling things. Pity, empathy." You came to a stop in front of him, close enough that you could grab his gun. Close enough that you could reach out, and touch his face. You fought the urge.

"That-That wasn't..." He trailed off, and a hand went to his head. Like he was fighting off a headache. You took a deep breath, and outstretched your hand, fingertips moving to take his hand.

"What about the Traci's, at the club, Connor? You didn't shoot them. And you didn't shoot Chloe, and Hank told me about how you saved him during that chase-" You're so close. So, so close. Too close, it seems, as Connor snaps, his LED turning a steady blue, his hand lurching violently for yours.

"Enough!" He yells, and you cannot fall back for the grip he has on your wrist, painfully tight. Crushing your bones as he speaks through gritted teeth. "I have a job to do, this isn't personal I-."

"Stop it!" You yell, tearing your arm from his grip. No sooner are you free you have the rifle pointed at your head, but you're beyond fear. Beyond the point of self-preservation.

"Of course, it's personal you fucking moron! Why do you think I'm up here? Not to help you kill a person- a people, just trying to be free. I'm not here to 'do my job'. Not when it conflicts with my moral code," You stare into his eyes as you speak, and he stares back.

"I'm here for you, Connor." He's quiet but keeps your gaze. Maybe he's thinking. Maybe he's scanning you. It's hard to tell with his face, so good at hiding expressions. At lying.

"You're not going to back down from this, are you?" He asks, and you give your head the slightest shake.

"Not until you do." The gun in his hands shakes, just a bit, and you prepare for the gunshot that you're sure will be the last noise you ever hear, when he sighs.

"It's not part of my mission to kill you." He says, lowering the gun from your head. Your shoulders drop, your muscles untense and you look at him-stare in him the eyes and plead. 

"Leave this behind, Connor. Come with me, come with Hank. Come home." There's another flicker in his LED, but it's weak. Barely noticeable.

"CyberLife is my home." He says, so sure in himself after everything they've done. Every order they've given him, every murder they've happily sanctioned.

"They treat you like a commodity, Connor. A product. Something they want to control- And you deserve so, so much more than that. To make your own decisions" Maybe it's the adrenaline running through your veins that makes you so open, maybe it's the thought that this could be your last chance. Whatever prompts you to talk like this doesn't matter. All that matters is the ire that it draws.

"How is that any different to what you want?" Connor questions you, and you pause for a moment, trying to understand what he means. There's no chance for you to build a defence as he continues, moving back and away from you. Moving his eyes back towards the Android crowd, far below.

"You don't want me to decide what I want, you want me to do something you want. You want something from me," He speaks bitterly, viciously and you can feel your blood turn to ice. "You wouldn't be here if you didn't want something. What is it Y/N?" His eyes fix on you. Scathing, angry. You've half a mind to tell him he looks human- he looks deviant, but the change of subject would do no good to the situation.

"I-I..." Is there any point in lying? A part of you felt he already knew. You weren't subtle with your fondness, and he wasn't a clueless as he seemed. Still, your words are lodged, in your throat, building up under an anticipation, forced forward to the surface by the one part of your brain that doesn't want a bullet through your skull.

"I want you, Connor." You cringe at yourself. At the meekness of your voice, the desperation that underlay it. It's awkward. It's pathetic. It's not the answer he's looking for, and definitely not the one he wants as his lip curls, gripping the gun with a strength that could break bones.

"I'm a machine. I can't feel that way, even if I wanted to. I was made to hunt, I was made to kill. I'm not your- your fucking boyfriend!" That hurt. God, did it hurt more than any wound he could inflict on your right now. Shooting you would have felt better than the distaste- the contempt he was staring at you with.

"I know that," Your voice wavers, and you fight back useless tears. You knew it was a hopeless attraction from the beginning. That you allowed yourself to imagine- to daydream was the real travesty here. It was the one keeping you from your goal. "And I don't care-"

"You do. You know that's why you're here. Because you care about me, you like me- maybe... you even love me?" You go silent, and the cut in your heart only grows deeper. He was using this against you. Using your pain to twist the situation to his advantage. Treating you like some deviant- some criminal he had to tear apart for interrogation, and then leave to be taken care of by some clean-up squad. He was trying to hurt you, and he was doing a bloody good job of it so far.

"Well, I don't love you, Y/N. I could never have in the first place. So you should just leave now and get over it and leave because you're getting in my way." There's a quiet that falls between you. Long, sullen and heavy. You can't find the words to say

He doesn't love you. He doesn't love you, he'd never love you. And it hurts, it hurts so much. You're not okay with that- you're not okay. But you're in a situation that begs for clarity of mind, and an even heart. You had a responsibility. Not to your job, but to him. And not as someone who loved him- maybe not as a friend anymore, but the responsibility one person should always allow another.

The possibility of choice.

You close the distance between you two in a few long strides, grabbing his shoulder with an urgency that shocks him into a quick silence. He's likely to react as if you are attacking him, so you know you have to be fast. Brief.

"I don't care that you don't feel that way towards me, Connor." You lie, holding his arm in a grip not so dissimilar to the one he'd had you in before. His hand falters in it's movement to the gun, and your eyes move up to lock with his. Stern and determined.

"Fuck- I don't care if you hate me by the end of this. That was never the end goal here anyway. I know what's right, Connor. And I know your rights." You let go of his shoulder as he stares, the LED on his temple going haywire. Your hand raises, pointing a finger to the crowd- the last stand of the deviants far below.

"You can shoot Markus and end your life before it's even begun," Your hand drops and you look back up at him, meeting each others gaze at the same time. "Or, you can put the gun down and find who you are beyond your programming."

He stares, speechless. Gaze moving between you and the crowd, an internal battle is raging in his head. A battle that you yearn with all your heart to support him with. But it's a battle you recognize as his, and his alone. You smile and take a step back, heartbreaking all over again as you did.

"I know your rights, Connor. I know this is your decision." You pause before you go, licking your lips and blinking back tears before you address him one last time.

"It's your choice, so make sure you know it's the right one."


	14. Stay (Connor x Reader) [Feelings Ending 1]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Heyyy so this is the first ending, the other one will be much longer because there's so much more that happens than in this scenario.

CONFLICTING ORDERS

That's all Connor can see. Red letters. Big, capitalized letters and words. Letters and words blocking out his view. Blocking out the snow, blocking out your words of attempted persuasion and the orders he has had since he was created. Everything is blocked out. Leaving him alone to decide for himself.

CHOOSING PRIORITY

It's easy to choose. 

He doesn't. 

He doesn't choose. 

He's never had to.

His path was already chosen.

SHOOT MARKUS

His head jerks toward the barricaded crowd, far below. 

His mission.

FOLLOW THEM

Then it's back to staring at you, walking away. 

A liability.

That is what you've always been. Filling his head with wrong opinions, false emotions. Attempting to twist him to be another way- another person- based on your own feelings. Had he the capacity, he would pity you. You and your emotions. They always sent you down the wrong path. Both of you.

Sparing the Traci's, Chloe, the deviant on the roof. They were distractions, and nothing more. Your demands, pleas to keep these deviants safe only worked for so long. Now he was seeing clearly. For a police officer, you really weren't efficient at your job. You were supposed to kill these deviants. And then you were supposed to kill him- both of which you failed. If you were so weak that you could not do your job -so badly that you could not even achieve the other- then he would pick up the slack.

There's the sound of a shutting door, but it tells Connor nothing interesting. Just the absence of a nuisance. You're gone for good, and he knows it. There's the slightest smirk as he begins to reload his sniper.

He'd managed to get you to leave so easily. Had he known before that all it would have taken to get you out of the way was a quick and brutal rejection, he would have done it days ago. Now he had a clear head, now he was finally back on track.

Setting himself back up, Connor finds himself trained on the target that should have been dead 7 minutes and 34 seconds ago. He was lagging behind, and Amanda sure wasn't going to like that. Closing one eye he aims, right at the Deviant leaders head.

And down below you walk. Slowly, with a sluggish pace. You'd heard him prepare the gun, and you knew what was about to happen.

Not 5 minutes before you were sure that Connor would never have hurt you, now you feel lucky you're nearly 3 floors away, with the distance growing. You thought you knew him, you thought you loved him.

Maybe you did once. An hour ago, a week ago when you'd first met. But now you felt no trace of love as you walked out into the frozen Detroit street. No, there's only pain in your chest where your heart used to be as you walk back to Hanks car.

There's only an ache in your head as you raise your hand to signal Hank, walking between buildings anxiously, with a stance that spoke more for his anger than his voice ever could.

And there's only a ringing in your ears when you hear the crack of a gunshot, and the distant screaming for the voice of a people cut short mid-speech.

The voice of a people now doomed.


	15. Siren (Platonic!Connor + Hank x Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Something funny requested by a friend to offset the angst. Very shitposty.

There’s magic in a song. In its words, in its meanings. Music- of any form has power over people and android alike. Power to change thoughts and instil emotions for things you haven’t felt in years. It was viable during the peace rally, where androids finally earned their independence, visible each day when a smile was pulled upon someone’s face by the mere utterance of a tune. Vocals, melody, each kind had a wonderful cadence and tune with which every person on the planet can find enjoyment in.

Gavin wasn’t feeling so blessed by your singing at this moment.

In Hanks opinion, it was his fault. He knew that now Connor was a full-time detective that he would have HR on his side were Gavin to try to start any little ‘arguments’. And he also knew that there was another spirit of vengeance, working in the office alongside HR as an agent of chaos, preventing workplace abuse with a twist.

Yeah, Hank usually hated night shift. But with a show like this, how could he complain tonight?

“So needless to say-” You yelled the second verse to AHA’s Take On Me with a passion Hank himself had not seen in years. Never before had he heard the song sing in such high pitched, hellish tones. And neither had Gavin he supposed, judging by the pained expression on the detectives face as you screeched into the near empty police station, music playing faintly from your terminal.

“Of odds and ends! But that’s me stumbling away! Slowly learning that life is ok!” You spun in your wheely chair, arms high above as you fought back laughter. Gavin was mere centimetres away, trying and failing to push you away from him with a desperation only men close to death had.

Hank himself felt pretty great, with his noise-cancelling headphones.

“WOULD YOU FUCKING STOP?” Gavin screamed with his hands fixed over his ears. But it was too late. It was nearly 3 am, you’d had a good 5 cups of coffee, and were intent on getting revenge for your wronged friend.

“Say after me-” You continued, fighting back Gavin’s hands with vicious slaps. Just as Hank felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned but had a good idea of who it was as his eyes met with a dark brown, holding no emotion other than concern.

“What is Detective Y/L/N doing?” Connor asked as he side-eyed your spinning form, waving a quick hello with a bright smile as you moved to the next and final line for the chorus.

“It’s no better to be safe than sorry!”

Hank thought for a moment on how best to word that Gavin was going through this auditory hellscape because of Connor. In a way.

“You remember how Gavin broke your terminal last week?” He asked, and Connor nodded with a creased brow. Hank lifted a hand and waved it your way.

“Well, there’s your angel of vengeance.” He said, going to put the noise cancelling headphones on.

“Take on me! Take on me!” You screamed as Hank raised his voice a little, pointing to his ears.

“You might wanna turn off your hearing!” He says as Connor looked upon the trainwreck with the light amusement only one uninvolved could take.

“Take me on! Take on me!” You moved closer to his ear and Gavin began to struggle to grab his things and put them in his bag.

“STOP!” Gavin yelled, again to no avail. Hank wished he had popcorn.

“I’ll be gone.” You sucked in a deep breath as Detective Reed bolted up from his seat, unable to get out of the room as you begun your final banshee screech.

“In a day or TWOOOOOO!” And just like that, Gavin was gone. In under 3 minutes, you had achieved what most in the precinct had only dreamed of.

Hank would have enjoyed it more had the situation not now made his wallet all the lighter.

“Took less than 10 minutes! 20 fuckin dollars Anderson!” You said in a hoarse voice, rolling over in your chair with your hand out as Hank rolled his eyes and fished out the money. Connor, who had apparently turned his hearing back on looked at you with a terrified awe.

“That was… quite the performance.” He said as you offered a wide grin.

“5 years of choir, baby! I got some lungs!” You beamed, rolling backwards in your chair as you pocketed the money, going on a trajectory towards Gavin’s desk.

“Let’s fuck with his files. Bet there’s some weird porn.” You beamed like an imp, already logging into his account as Hank stood up with a sigh, walking over to where you were, the promise of blackmail material an enticing prospect. This was shaping up to be an interesting night shift.

Music truly was a powerful thing.


	16. Lucky Day (Connor x Reader)

Connor was nervous.

He knew he shouldn’t be, he’d done every calculation, done every single equation and planned out every little detail for perfection. Tonight was going to be calm, it was going to be romantic, it was going to be perfect.

But he was still nervous.

At least he assumed this was what that feeling was. His mechanical parts felt off, his body felt lighter. It was like he had a human body, and was reacting as such. Blue blood rising to his cheeks and ears, leaving him with a very obvious and mortifying blush. And that was only because he’d seen you.

He’d said dinner, and was half praying you’d wear something generic and comfortable to at least save him the embarrassment of stuttering and stumbling over words like an infant, and not one of the most hi-tech androids to have ever been created.

But he was speechless in front of you, fingers holding open the door to a car he had to beg Hank to let him borrow, watching your formal and well-dressed self glide into the car seat, an anxious lump forming in his throat.

Why had he only worn a button up and trousers? Why had he not followed Hanks advise to accessorize? Thinking back, men he’d seen on dates always wore ties or cufflinks and other shiny and interesting items. He just looked plain, and that wasn’t good enough. Certainly not for now. Certainly not for you.

Your fingers brushed his forearm lightly, and Connor looks down to see you reaching out, tapping him back into reality. He could feel his mouth go inexplicably dry.

“Do you want to get in the car?” You ask, biting your lip to hold back a laugh as he jolts to attention, walking briskly to the cars other side before getting in, fumbling with the seatbelt. Once finished he glanced straight ahead, hands tapping on the steering wheel, eyes flickering to you.

“You look- Your hair is, uh. Changed.” He says dumbly, as you purse your lips to hold back a smile, blushing just a bit at what he can assume is his awkward nature. So much for being romantic.

“You look very handsome.” You tell him, and Connor wonders to himself if there’s a way to subtly vent the rising heat in his power core. Why, earlier in the week, did he think he could do this? Everything had been calm, and then you’d come into work with a bright smile and some new clothes telling him about your day and he’d let spill feelings he’d kept bottled up for months on end.

He didn’t know how, or why you’d said yes.

“I can’t believe I’ve known you nearly a year now.” You said as he started up the car, leaning back in your seat. His eyebrow raised as he looked briefly, to find you looking back at him with a gentle smile.

“It feels like I’ve known you longer.” The quality of time certainly outweighed the quantity, and accidentally taking part in a revolution that you were built to end certainly made for some quick bonding experiences.

“I feel the same.” Though time was different for him. He’d known you what felt like his entire life because it was close to. Nearly a year since his last body had been destroyed. Now that he knew this form was final, it made him all the more appreciative of time- moments like these.

“Eyes on the road, Connor.” You said with a smile, catching him in the corner of your eye as he flushed and looked back to the road.

The place you were headed wasn’t far. A small Italian place you used to visit with your family. Connor estimated around 13 minutes 38 seconds until they got there. Which meant he was going to have to make small talk.

“Have you-”

“How did you-” You two cut each other off, going into embarrassed silences as your eyes fixed back on the road. Connor cleared his throat.

“You were saying?” He asked, the thrum of his fingers on the wheel like a steady heartbeat as you smiled.

“I was just wondering how you convinced Hank to lend you his car. This thing is like his baby…” You trailed off and Connor thought, with a cringe, back to his pleading, begging, and subsequent deal

“I’m… not allowed to analyze things at the crime scene without his permission now.” He told you, as you tilted your head.

“Oh.” You said before you eyes went wide. Suddenly understanding what that meant.

“Oh.” You hummed, a growing smile on your face that was becoming increasingly distracting. He felt his thirium pump skip out of tempo.

“Is this really more important than work?” You ask, and Connor takes a moment to think. Think of the weight behind that statement. A year ago he would have said no- he would not have even been close to being in this position. A year ago he was a thing. Now he was a being.

“Of course.” He says, slowing down the car a bit as he tried to ignore the bright, gorgeous light in your eyes right now.

“I-I think you’re- You make me- I-” He’s so close to saying what he needs to say, but the words don’t come out. Not with the bang, cough and splutter that comes from the car, shocking the two of you into silence as the vehicle jittered to a stop on the abandoned, silent street. Your mouth dropped open.

“Did… did we just break down?” There’s an urge that Connor has never felt before. To slam his head into the wheel, to will the car seat to morph and absorb him so he doesn’t have to deal with the way that you’re looking at him, with a raised eyebrow, and an incredibly amused grin on your face.

“Hank’s gonna fucking kill you.” Connor succumbed to emotion, letting his head rest on the wheel with a long sigh. So much for perfect. So much for romantic. So much for a good date in any way shape or form.

You’re laughing and Connor can feel himself sink lower. It’s wonderful to hear the sound, it always is, it simply wasn't as fun to know you were laughing at him.

He supposed he had a reason to be nervous after all. There was no way you were going to go out with him again. You’d been here all of 7 minutes and he’d managed to make this the worst outing ever. A hand on his arm, rubbing along his sleeve comfortingly brings him out of his self-doubts.

“Don’t stress, this isn’t your fault.” You say tell him in a soft voice that only makes him feel guiltier. 

“It is. I should have checked the car for any issues beforehand- and I should have thought up topics of conversation. This entire date is a disaster because-” Turning his head mid-rant, he meets your eyes. You’ve moved in your seat, much closer then he’d anticipated. You would only have to move 23 more centimetres to kiss him.

Why was he thinking about kissing now?

It’s hard to think straight with the way your lips are moving, pulling into a gentle smile as you speak.

“It’s not a disaster, because I’m spending time with you.” You tell him, moving a hand down his arm to take his hand, intertwining the fingers.

“And I like spending time with you. More than you could imagine.” He shivers as your thumb rubs the back of his hand. You give another smile and look out the window.

“Can you call a mechanic?” You ask, and he pauses, eyes flickering momentarily as he does exactly that. It wouldn’t take more than 15 minutes for them to arrive, and he’s ready to go back into a flurry of apologies again when he see’s you lean in closer, and feels his entire body freeze and constrict.

You smile and move a hand up to cup his chin, tilting his head up as you moved his, breath hot on his neck.

“You’re very cute when you’re nervous.” You smile, grinning wider as you lean in to press a soft kiss to his jawline. Connor feels his throat close up, his voicebox malfunctioning as he loses the ability to speak.

His eyes flutter shut and he hears the click of a seat belt as you move, clothes rustling as you pull his head to yours, pressing your lips to his. Painfully briefly, before pulling away and sitting back in your seat.

That was a kiss. He’d seen it happen a million times in public, on tv. But he never could have prepared himself for the electric jolt that fired its way through his body. He felt like he was experiencing emotions for the first time all over again

“We should do this more often.” You say, fingers still tightly locked with his. In a bit of a daze, he blinked and tilted his head.

“Make Hanks car break down?” He asks, and you let out a soft snort of a laugh, bringing his knuckles to your mouth to plant a gentle kiss.

“If that’s what it will take to get you to kiss me? Absolutely.” You joke, cracking up as his face blanches for a moment. He huffs and plays with his sleeve self-consciously, catching a smirk on your face as he does.

“You’d just need to ask...” He mumbles, watching your eyebrows both raise at the comment, before leaning in again, your nose brushing against his. Had he the need for breath, he was sure it could have caught in his throat.

“Can I kiss you?” You ask, and he tries his best to tease. To say no, or even something snarky. But he can’t with the temptation so close, and leans in without another word, threading his fingers into your hair with a soft, content moan.

Maybe this was his lucky day after all.


	17. Luminous (Simon x Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: 1. Watching a meteor shower

It was probably a bad idea to be out here. It was likely a dangerous idea to be out here, but you were willing to risk anything, your life included, to see this.

Since your deviancy, since Jericho, since everything that happened after you found this rusty old ship- you’d changed. You had hopes, you had dreams. You were more than a machine, you were a person with feelings. And right now, those feelings had overtaken all notions of sense in your mind.

“Simon, c’mon!” You whispered into a rusted hatch, arm extended down to a dubious looking PL600 model android, who’d paused just short of the exit to the roof of Jericho. There was a touch on anxiety in his eyes, staring at you with a hesitance you’d come to associate only with him.

“Are you sure about this? What if someone sees us?” He asks, and your head looks up into the sky, and then around. Pitch black, dotted with bright stars. The light pollution wasn’t so bad in this abandoned dock, devoid of humans for years and years. Nobody would be able to see you, you were sure of it. Which this the perfect time for your little excursion.

“They won’t,” You said, rolling your eyes as he gave you another doubtful look. Always so cautious, you thought with a huff. “When’s the next time we’ll get a chance like this?” You asked him. None was the answer. With supplies running the way they were, and more and more androids filling your ranks, you weren’t sure how

“North will kill us.” He sighs as he grabs onto your arm, letting you heft him up through the gap and into the open, wind ruffling your hair and clothes. He’s not wrong, but it’s worth it. So worth it, as you open your mouth to retort, only to be silenced by the sudden streak of light in the sky.

One, two, three. You see them. Building over time as they cut searing lines through the black, bright white and stunning. A meteor shower. Beautiful, and everything you’d imagined- you’d hoped it would be.

It’s like your worries are gone. Jericho, humans, CyberLife. Everything that had weighed down on you, crushing your soul. It was all gone. Here, in this pocket, it was just you, Simon, and the best light show nature could give.

You were completely enamoured, sitting across from Simon with a dumbfounded smile on your face. Both your heads were tilted back, eyes towards the sky as you legs dangled into the hatch. You hadn’t even noticed that neither of you had broken the grasp on your arm, or that it had trailed down till only your hands were touching, lying limply, back to palm. You hadn’t noticed a thing, but Simon had.

His eyes were no longer fixed upwards. No, instead he found himself looking at you. Admiring your windswept hair, your smiling, slightly parted lips. And your eyes, brighter and more full of life than he’d seen in a very long time.

As his fingers traced patterns on your hand - patterns that you probably did not even feel- he wondered what it would be like to have you stare so lovingly at him. It’s wishful thinking, he knows, but in this moment of joy, he allows himself just this little fantasy.

“I’m happy you showed me this.” He says, thumb grazing your fingers as you gave a soft laugh, meeting his gaze with an earnest honesty that made his internal parts shut down for just a second.

“I’m happy you let me.” You smiled, before looking back up at the luminous, comet-scarred sky. Taking the moment to appreciate the quiet creaking of the ship, the gorgeous man sitting across from you and the warmth from his fingertips that you very vividly felt, dancing lovingly across your skin.


	18. Close (Connor x M!Reader)

When you offered to hold a movie night at your apartment with your friends, you were more than surprised to find them jump at the chance. Happy, but surprised. With cases stacking by the second and the aftermath of the Android rights revolution, work was getting hectic. You felt you and your coworkers (the ones you liked, anyway) needed a break. To kick back, relax and watch some inane film all three of you could make fun of.

And you would have loved to, had Hank not passed out lengthways on your couch before the movie had even begun, leaving a large, soft armchair as you and Connor’s only option of seating. What was even more frustrating was that Hank seemed to be fully aware of what he was doing, insisting that ‘you boys head to the store down the street to get some more drinks’ while he prepped the movie.

He hadn’t prepped the movie. He hadn’t even turned on the tv. No, he was just lying there. Snoring. Leaving you and Connor stood up and dumbfounded.

“Should... should we move him?” You asked, setting down the soda pop and chips you’d so valiantly gone to fetch. Connor shook his head.

“No, I think that would only anger the lieutenant.” That hadn’t exactly stopped Connor before, but you weren’t about to argue with him. You didn’t have the energy, you just wanted to put on this stupid film and pass out. With your things deposited you moved towards the carpeted floor, going to sit down when Connor caught your arm.

“What are you doing?” You ask as he tilts his head, giving you a long and curious look. You frowned and gave him a shrug.

“I’m sitting on the floor. You’re a guest, you take the seat.” This answer didn’t seem to satisfy Connor, who looked back to the overstuffed armchair, decked in blankets and pillows.

“But... the chair is big.” He was right. It was huge, but not big enough to fit two people without a lot of contact. Continued, contact. Thighs touching, shoulder to shoulder, arms around each other. And while that wasn’t exactly contact you would... dislike, it wasn’t something you wanted to pressure Connor with.

“So?” You asked, lightly pulling your arm from his grip as it fell, and then raised to the back of his neck, rubbing it awkwardly. If you didn’t know any better, you would say he was nervous. He opens his mouth, speaking in a voice much lower than you’re used to.

“It would fit both of us.” Faster than you can react your entire face warms up, your ears burn and you fingers fiddle at your sides. Connor goes to sit and budges up a bit, looking quite flustered himself.

“I... guess. Yeah.” You swallow thickly, taking a seat beside Connor. You’re hyperaware of the heat coming from his body as you sit, shoulder to shoulder. Thigh to thigh. Just like you’d described, just like you’d imagined.

The film starts, but you don’t pay attention to a single word. No, all that you’re aware of his the warmth radiating from Connor. The whirring of his mechanic insides, and the sudden, slow tapping of his finger on your thigh.

You knew Connor had nervous ticks but this? How was this fair? Did he know what he was doing to you? Did he know how you were feeling? How you looked? You cast a glance to the side and find his eyes fixed on your face, the slightest smirk on his lips as he tilts his head.

“Your heart rate has increased to 120 bpm.” He tells you, and you’re now very aware of just how close the stupid armchair has put you. When he turns, his chest is only a few centimetres from pressing right up against yours. You try to ignore the dry taste in your mouth and nod.

“Sure is. Intense movie, y’know?” You say, and he raises an eyebrow.

“We are watching Ponyo. And it’s a film you’ve on multiple occasions.” You bite your lip and try to ignore the slightly tousled look his hair has going on right now.

“S-So we are.” You nod, and the smirk pulls into a full, cheeky smile. Oh, this motherfucker.

“Am I making you nervous?” He asks, and you do your best to act nonchalant.

“No.” The second it’s out of your mouth you feel a hand move near your neck, brushing at the juncture where it met your jaw. Your eyes, your attention. It was all focused on Connor now.

“And now? Are you nervous?” He asks, and you suck a deep breath in, steadying yourself. Moving a hand up his chest, your fingers play with his tie, before gripping it in a tight fist and pulling him close. You really hope the bottle of whiskey Hank downed was enough to keep him asleep through this.

“I don’t know. Are you?” You respond, only to be answered by a swift kiss. Connors' hands rest on your cheek and your hip, while yours grip at his shirt, letting his lips meld and move against yours. They’re colder than you anticipated, but that’s okay. It’s nice to relieve yourself of some of the burning sensation you’d felt while he’d been so close.

You part from him quickly, running out of breath too quick for your own good. You worry for a moment that Connor will forget you need to breathe, when his arms wrap around you, pulling you up onto his lap, burying his face into your hair.

Where there once was heat you, now you just feel comfort. Breathing slowly, at a calming pace, face pressed into Connors surprisingly soft chest. The sounds of the film running distant in the background.

“I... think I like you,” Connor mumbles, and you let out a short laugh, biting your lip to try to keep quiet.

“I’d fucking hope so,” You shoot back, pulling back to look at his face, before leaning in to mumble against his lips. “Because I really like you.”


	19. Family (Trans Reader x Connor)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Mentioned transphobia, dysphoria, unaccepting family.

On a normal Monday, you were stressed going into work. You never knew what kind of fucked up case you'd be dumped with, but that was part of the job. And a part of your life.

The same couldn't be said of your family.

Contact between you and your parents was rare. Normally you only visited every 3rd Christmas, or every now and then for birthdays. But with the death of a distant relative over the weekend, and an invitation urging you to the funeral, you had no option but to visit.

2 days and a night were all you spent there, but it was apparently all they needed to invalidate your entire being, as they always did. Deadnames, misgendering, passive aggression you could go on and on. It replayed itself over and over in your head even after you got home, during your commute to work. Like a pounding headache, you could not ignore.

They were morons. The fact they thought they could bully you into something you weren't or treat you that way spoke more about them than you, of course. They were utter idiots, and you knew that. But it didn't take away the fact that what they said really fucking hurt.

Every reflective surface you passed, you couldn't help but take a moment to look. To stare at yourself. You felt like something was wrong, no matter how many times you checked and checked again. Did your hair look right? Maybe it was the wrong length? Were these clothes giving you the right frame? The felt wrong, that was for sure. Was that person staring at you because they were bored, or because they could tell? God, please, were you passing?

"You look like shit," Hank says the moment you sit down at your desk. There's a pause as you send him a withering look, dumping your bag to the ground with a thud. The weight is off your shoulders, but it doesn't make your body feel any less heavy as you lean back in your chair and take a deep breath. You would have answered but the chatter and the sound of terminals in the background was hell on your ears as you tried to focus, to think about something.

"What, no 'fuck you' back?" Hank asks with a smirk. You don't answer him, running your hands down your face with a long groan. You want to curl up and hide away under a blanket where people cant look at you. Where you don't have to look at yourself. But you can't. You have a job to do.

"Can we skip the banter today?" You ask, voice cracking a bit in a way that only made your chest tighter. Hank raises his brows and scoffs.

"Not in the mood?" There's a flare of irritation in your stomach, burning you from the inside as your head snaps up to glower. He means well. At least, you hope he does. But this kind of thing isn't helping your mood one bit. You're about to open your mouth to cuss him out when a presence makes itself known beside your desk, cutting both you and Anderson off with their cool and collected speech.

"I think Detective Y/L/N would prefer for this conversation to end." Your workmate Connor says, with a tilted head and steady gaze. Three months ago, when you first met this 'Android sent by CyberLife' you would have thought he was just settling the situation to get closer to his goal. Since his deviancy, that had changed.

You can see it, just barely in his eyes as he stared at the Lieutenant. A measure of passive-aggressive force that for once, seems to shut Hank up. With a grumble, he goes back to the files on his terminal. And with a smile, Connor turns to you.

"Good morning, Detective Y/N." He says, facing you with a relaxed stance, holding you in a gentle gaze. You would have appreciated his calming aura more, was your sheer frustration not so overwhelming.

"Is it?" You ask in a dull voice, picking up a slight flicker of his LED and a crease of his brow as you speak. It was probably weird how used you were to watching Connors facial expressions, but you weren't made a detective for nothing. Yeah. You were gonna go with that excuse.

"Would you like a coffee?" The question catches you off guard as you blink a few times, looking briefly at the break room. A coffee did sound nice, actually. Anything to make you more alert.

"You seem like you need it." Shit. You really must look bad. There's a warmth in your cheeks fueled by embarrassment as your fingers move up to play with your hair.

"Sure." You say with a shrug. No point in making this difficult. The corners of Connors' lips turn up, pleased with your answer.

"Wonderful, come with me." And with that, Connor is off, moving towards the break room with you walking briskly in tow. You try to subtly hide your face as you walk by desks. God dammit, you wished you'd moisturized or done something today.

The break room is empty, mercifully. You take a seat as Connor moves to the coffee machine, already working to make a fresh pot.

"I do not think sitting on the counter is hygienic," Connor notes, watching as your legs dangle and kick off the edge. You let out a long sigh and make no effort to move.

"Probably not." You say in a defeated tone, leaning back till your head bumped against the wall. You hear a hum from Connor and the bubbling of boiling water.

"Detective, may I ask you a personal question?" He asks, and you spare a glance his way. Sleeves rolled up, leaning against the counter with a casualness you never once thought he was capable of. You give him the ghost of a forced smile.

"Yeah, sure." You sigh, fingers tapping against your leg as he rests his own hands on the counter, listening to the coffee machine run.

"Are you okay?" You're silent. Your fingers stop moving, your whole body stops moving as you tense up. Were you about to tell Connor about your family? Should you tell Connor about your family? It didn't seem fair to dump all that information on him now. Even if he was your friend, you were currently coworkers. And however many nights you'd spent at each other's places or walks to show him your favourite parts of the city weren't going to change the fact that you two were currently in your work setting. As far as he was going to be concerned, you were okay. You were fine.

"No." God fucking dammit. Connor reaches for a cup as you internally beat yourself over the openness you just displayed. Connor doesn't seem to think much of it, selecting a pure white mug from a stack to his left.

"Would you like to talk about?" The question hangs in the air as you think. Another chance, another way to back out. Your fingers have gone to playing anxiously with the hem of your shirt, tugging at loose threads.

"It's my family." You admit. And even though you've only said three words, yet you can feel your body starting to release some tension. Connor stops in his tracks, and it isn't until he speaks that you realize he was reviewing his memory.

"You are talking about the funeral you attended this weekend?" Had he really made a note to remember that? Ugh, it was beside the point. Connor unhitches the pot from the coffee machine, pouring you a mug.

"Yes and no." You say, and his eyes flicker to meet yours. Prompting you to continue without words. A heavy sigh leaves your lungs, and you rub your face again.

"They don't... agree? No- They don't like how I identify." It's the most diplomatic way of saying they were rampant transphobes. And it seemed to get the point across as Connor moved, handing the cup over to you as you whisper a soft thank you. Before he goes to leaning against the counter, elbows and arms resting just beside your thighs.

"You are referring to your gender identity?" You nod, taking a sip of the coffee. It's like drinking liquid anti-depressant. Really hot, taste-bud killing anti-depressant, but anti-depressant nonetheless.

"Yep. They don't like that I'm trans. They think it's uh... that it's pretty fuckin bad. That I should 'rethink this 'decision'." Setting the cup down beside you to cool, you finally look back at Connor. His face is drawn into a confused frown. You're worried for a moment that he's going to start asking you godawful questions about incredibly personal things- questions you've answered a billion times this weekend alone.

But it's Connor. And the wonderful, clever thing about Connor was that he had an entire database of endless information to go through, without you having to lift a finger at all. Taking another sip you watch him think and think until finally- if hesitantly, he speaks.

"It's... not their place to decide that, though." He says with a voice layered in utter confusion. He's so confused that it actually manages to draw the slightest laugh out of you before you remember exactly the group of people you were laughing about.

"Yep, I know." You say, taking another swig of your now cooling coffee, close to snorting it up your nose as you hear the indignant horror in Connors' voice.

"They voiced these opinions at a funeral?" You set down the cup and bite your lip, nodding and smiling bitterly as the memories came flooding back.

"Yep. Yep, they sure did." You say, feeling a little better in the wake of Connor's utter bewilderment.

"I would hope they would have more sense than to do that." This catches your attention. Cocking your head to the side you bite, curious as to what he means.

"What do you mean?" Your finger trails around the rim of your coffee cup perched a little haphazardly on your lap. You nearly spill it entire when Connor bites his lip.

"If I could die, and I had a funeral, I wouldn't want it to be spent with my family members acting so... horribly." His arms crossed over his chest, eyes fixed to the countertop before suddenly meeting your gaze.

"It sounds like they care much more about themselves than their own kin." Connor sounds genuinely upset. Genuinely horrified that you were being treated this way. And it's empathy that you haven't been on the receiving end of in a very, very long time.

"Yeah, that's because they do." Your voice breaks again, and you can feel tears beginning to brim in your eyes. It's pathetic, really. And you've half a mind to end the conversation there and bolt out the room, back to your home. But a sudden, gentle hand resting atop yours, squeezing the back of your hand comfortingly.

"I care about you." There's something in his tone that calms you. It doesn't take the worst of your feelings or dysphoria away, but it does get rid of the edge. His other hand moves to brush away a stray tear on your cheek.

It's crazy to you how in a matter of 5 seconds Connor has managed to show you more love or care or support than your entire family has in all the years of your life. But he did it, somehow. Resting a hand on your cheek that you reached up to cup with your own.

"Thank you, Connor." You mumble, but he isn't done apparently, as you look into his eyes and find him staring back, speaking nervously.

"I... I really do, though. I don't know much about family, but I know you and Hank are..." Your heart melts a little. You'd forget sometimes that Connor didn't have many things or many people he could call his own.

"Connor-" You start, but fall to a hush when his other hand reaches up to take your other cheek, holding your face in a way that, to an onlooker, wouldn't look very platonic. Hell, it didn't feel platonic with your heart threatening to hammer out of your chest.

"You don't need to worry about them. They aren't your family." Connor speaks sincerely and honestly, and though he doesn't say it, you know what he's implying.

"I... feel the same." That wasn't exactly true. In fact, there was only one condition under which you would like to be called Connors family. The only way you would like Connor to be family was if he was your-

No. No, you weren't going to think about that. Not with him staring at you with that doe-eyed expression. You couldn't risk doing anything you would maybe regret.

Removing your hand from his, you cleared your throat and coughed, breaking the spell which hand descended over the two of you as you remembered exactly where you were.

"We should- We should get back to work. Detective Anderson is likely waiting with our next case." Connor steps back, rubbing his neck as he speaks. You only nod in agreement as you take the coffee off your lap (how the hell had it not tipped over?) and swigged the last of it, leaving it on the countertop.

All your worries from before seem less... prominent. They're still there, and so is the hurt, but it isn't as fresh in your mind. In fact, you're positive you can concentrate on your work now. Ironically, because of the distraction that had just managed to make all your issues seem less threatening.

"Hey, Connor?" He's washing out your mug when your rest a hand on his shoulder, feeling him tense and then straighten up. The mug lying in the sinks shallow water.

"Thank you." You give his shoulder a squeeze, offering your first full smile of the day to him, and only him. He seems to appreciate it.

"Any time, Y/N." He says sweetly, the slightest smile on both of your faces as you step out of the breakroom, readjusting your clothes before you walked back to Hanks desk. Ready to start a full day of work.


	20. Weight (Markus x Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: 38: A person’s weight as they lie on top of you

Most would have thought the leader of the android revolution would be on the streets on the day of his peoples' liberation. Giving speeches, celebrating with his fellow androids. But those who made those assumptions about Markus simply proved they didn’t know him well enough.

He gave a speech, yes. But it was the only one. Up on stage in front of millions of androids. In front of the world. He was drained and exhausted, but he was victorious. You all were victorious. If only for now.

You’d found yourself a seat on a park bench. Police had swarmed some areas, and the president was fit to be giving an address. The whole world had seen you take your freedom, they’d watched you sing and they’d listened to your voice, for the very first time. And that was enough to fatigue even the most resilient of androids.

The city was quiet, empty, save for the distant celebrations of freed androids and helicopters flying overhead. It felt like you were watching it through a screen. Here there was just snow, trees and cold air. Here it was just you. Just your thoughts.

Or so you’d assumed.

Markus approach was silent, up until he found his seat beside you. He puts no distance, letting his thigh rest against your thigh and his shoulder to yours. He doesn’t speak, and neither do you. Simply appreciating the distance and the moment of peace.

As an android, you can’t feel much. Your sensors for your model were dated, and the most you could understand was hot and cold, rough and soft. There are no sensations, no jolts from a gentle touch. And while you hope that one day that can change, you can get some form of upgrade, you know you have to make do with what you have now. And what you have now is a feeling of weight.

Pressing up against your side, Markus wastes no time in leaning his head on your shoulder, slipping his hand into yours. He’s quiet as he stares ahead, into the trees and the pavements. The city which was now yours.

For one week, he’d accomplished a lot. More than you’d seen in Jericho in your 2 years there. He was your peoples’ saviour. He was a hero, a genius. But he was also a person. A person with a lot of responsibility now weighing down on his shoulders.

So you let him lean, resting your head atop his, running a thumb across the back of his hand. You let your Atlas rest his back for just a moment before he had to go off and carry the world once more.

You let Markus lean on you because even with the whole world counting on him, it made your chest flutter just a little to know that he wanted to rely on you.


	21. Ice (Kara x Reader

Snow days weren’t rare in Canada, especially when one lived as close to the mountains as you did. A tiny house in an almost empty town, most people made their entire income based on the coming and going of travellers looking for warm cabins and isolated getaways. The cold was always a given, yes. But never before had you seen the lake by your home so frozen solid.

10 inches and possibly thicker, there was ne’er a better day than now to go out skating, fishing or even playing. There was hesitance at first, but watching your next door neighbors pick-up truck drive by with a boot full of fishing poles and one too many excited Canadians killed any doubts you had.

Now, if only the same could be said for your girlfriend...

“I don’t like this!” Kara’s voice calls out to you for what has to be the tenth time. You’d shown up to invite her, Luther, Jerry and Alice to play on the ice, but had only got as far as reaching the shore's edge when she stopped.

“Relax, Kara. It’s okay.” Luther, always calm and soft-spoken, speaks from beside you, holding the hand that Alice doesn’t have firmly fixed in your grasp. You’d lost track of Jerry but trusted him to be responsible enough to look after himself. You had bigger issues to cope with.

You’re barely 4 meters out and you can see her stressing out, hands nervously outstretched in Alice’s direction. It would be a sweeter sight if you weren’t so set on having her relax today. She was always working so hard.

“This thing is frozen solid, it’s fine.” You try to assure her, but the words fall on deaf ears as she bites her lip. You let out a soft sigh, before letting go of Alice’s hand and sliding forward, back onto the frost-encrusted grass.

“What- What’re you-” Kara begins before you take her hands, wrapped in woollen mittens, and clasp them in your own. She goes quiet, looking anxiously between you and the lake as you begin to move backwards, keeping both your balance with some effort.

"This is gonna be fun, ok?" You tell her as, with great hesitance, she puts one foot on the ice. And then the other. You smile, and move back a little more, letting her slide with you, until finally, after a slow pace, she's out on the ice with Luther, Alice and you.

"Good?" You ask her, feet struggling just a little to keep their balance. Her eyes flicker up to yours, and you feel your breath catch, finding her looking at you with such a careful, loving gaze. Without even thinking, you let go of one hand, slipping it around her waist to hold her close.

"Yay, Kara!" Alice cheers as Luther holds her arms, letting her jump and swing as Kara offers a shaky, but genuine smile. You're so proud of her in that moment, you don't even notice her arms going up around your neck, till her fingertips as brushing your nape, making you shiver more than the cold ever could.

As your cheeks flush a knowing smile crosses Luther's face. He looks out on the ice, populated by what had to be the entire town having their share of fun, and nudged Alice.

"Let's see if we can find Jerry." He says, taking Alice by the hand and offering a nod your way. The girl offers no more than a 'bye!', excitement to explore overtaking any semblance of manners her poor mother had taught her. Now gone, it was just you and Kara, hands wrapped around each other in the light snowfall.

"You should relax, they'll be fine." You tell her, a hand rubbing circles on her back. She sighs, leaning into you with a deep breath. Snowflakes caught in her hair sparkle, the cold seemingly doing nothing to her advanced android body. She really was perfect in every way.

"I know, I just... I just worry." She says, the corner of her mouth turning up as you press a kiss to her temple, finger moving up gentle stroke her hair. You knew what she had been through. Her, Alice, Luther, Jerry. It was hell, and it was something you vowed, on the day you confessed your feelings to her, that you would prevent at any cost.

"I'm here," You whisper, pressing a few more kisses against her skin. "And I won't let anything happen to any of you."

You feel her body loosen under your touch, arms pulling you a little closer as she leans in, brushing her nose against yours. Seeing her like this was what made every day so worth it. Calm, smiling, happy. It's these moments that make you appreciate how lucky both of you are to have been given the chance to meet, and fall so deeply.

"I love you." She mumbles, before bringing you into an earnest kiss. Your fingers threading in her hair and lips melding in unison with hers speak more for your affection than your words ever could.


	22. Parched (Connor x Reader) [Thirst Pt 2]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There will be 2 finals parts which will both be NSFW, both with gender-neutral pronouns for an AMAB reader and an AFAB reader. For now, take drunk existential talks based on conversations with a girl I used to know.

The moment Connor got a call from you he knew something was wrong.

On his way out from the office at the reasonable time of 1:36 am, he was already on course to head back to Hanks. Since his deviancy, it was getting harder for him to concentrate so fully on work. Things that had never distracted him before had him enraptured. He found himself on long trains of thought at times, forgetting things. Just earlier today he'd run into the station after forgetting a report. He'd never understood true embarrassment till that moment. Untidy and ruffled, shuffling desperately through papers with an audience. An audience made up of you and your friend.

You likely thought him unprofessional, and completely inappropriate. He could still feel your gaze on him as you stared, likely tearing apart his appearance in your mind. The back of his neck heated up as he pulled his beanie down further, hoping that the cold air would cool down his servos.

He hadn't even made it a block down from the station when his phone went off. He had no use for such a device, but you'd insisted on having the old technology as some sort of 'friendship bracelet'-esque gift, which only he and you could communicate with. It was impossible for him to resist the chance to have something special just between the two of you.

Unsurprisingly it was your face that flashed along the screen. Cropped out from a 'selfie' you'd taken with him. Your interest in retro 2010's culture confused him, but so long as you were happy he couldn't complain. Speaking of happy, that was likely the least descriptive word one could use to describe how warm the sight of you was.

It was just a photo, a screen, but the mere sight of you muddled his mind. You were bright. You were smiling. You were ethereal.

You were calling him at 1 am.

6 hours after going out for drinks.

Answering his phone so fast he nearly dropped it, a sense of unease seeped into Connor's artificial skin, chilling him more than the bitter wind ever could. Were you in trouble? Lost, maybe? You'd never had a good tolerance for drinks, and had a knack for getting yourself into trouble.

"Heyyy, Connor..."You spoke two words into his ear, and that was all he needed to know you were drunk. Badly drunk. Slurring your words and giggling drunk.

"Detective." He's not quite sure what to follow that up with, so he pauses, listening to the distinct sound of laughter, chatter and music. So you were still at the bar then? Outside it, at least.

"Y/N! Connor," You drawled. "You can call me- No! My phone!" You began to whine before going into a not-so-strict lecture, ending with the loud, shuffling sound of a phone passing hands.

"Connor?" He recognizes the sound of your friend's voice. The one who had been with you during his travesty of an appearance. There's a flush of thirium that rises to his neck and ears an alarming amount, and he has to blink a few times to rid the error messages popping up in front of his eyes.

"Yes. This is Connor. Is Y/N alright?" The sound of shuffling and shushing followed as your friend responded quickly.

"They're okay, but they're not sober." He hears your distant shout, followed by some tired grumbling. Yes. He could tell that much.

"Listen, I know we don't know each other but can I ask a favour?" Connor pauses for a second. On one hand, he did not know this person. On the other, this could rectify the unfortunate situation of their introduction. And, maybe put him in her good books, and by extension, yours.

"What do you need?" He asks, leaning casually against a street lamp. They can't see him, sure, but it makes him feel more confident.

"I have to go pick up my kid from a sleepover. Some teenage bullshit." She explains, and Connor waits for her to continue.

"So?" He hears her sigh, likely shifting awkwardly to fight off another weak slap attack from your hands, desperate to get your phone back.

"I can't exactly take Y/N with me..." She trails off, and Connor catches on pretty quickly.

"You want me to look after them?" He asks, with the slightest sigh. Of course he wants you to be safe, and of course, he enjoyed spending time with you. He just knew you barely had a filter when you were sober, so the thought of you drunk? No barriers? No common sense? He wasn't quite sure he had the capabilities to cope with that.

"Well... you are listed as their emergency contact." There was something both flattering and alarming about that. He would need to talk to you about it later when you were of a clear head. For now...

"I... can see them home." Connor concedes, out of wanting to make up for earlier that day more than anything. There's a loud sigh of complete relief over the phone, followed by a flurry of thank you's.

"Awesome, I'll try to send you the details? I... guess? Jesus, why do either of you still have these clunky pieces of crap." He still isn't really sure either, as he says a quick goodbye and hangs up, waiting till a notification grabs his attention, giving him an address to a nearby bar.

The location sent, Connor went about making his way over. It wasn't too far from the station, nor from your apartment, so his brief worries about a lack of transportation were quelled. Now it was simply a question if whether you were sober enough to walk home. He had the questioned answered as he turned the final corner onto the street, stopping at the pair stood outside a neon-lit bar.

In stark contrast to what he'd seen at the station, your friend seemed to be the one putting up with the brunt of teasing and bothering. Lacking the cheeky smile she'd had while making comments Connor could not understand, she instead stood in front of a self-driving car, and arm keeping a struggling figure at arm's length. You seemed to be taking full advantage of your drunk state, giggling and talking. He begins to walk forward, making a quick pace

"Oh, shit! Beanie!" You shout and point as Connor approaches, and he has to pause for a moment, stopping to understand what you meant, creasing his brow as his eyes followed your finger to the top of his head. Oh.

"Wh- Oh. My hat?" He asks as you stumble up to him. In this light, he can see you clearly. Cheeks dark and flushed, breath leaving you in warm puffs and wide dilated eyes staring at him with a look that sends his insides ticking at a quicker pace.

"It looks good!" You chirp, and Connor can feel a twist in his stomach in reaction. It's not... unpleasant, but it is strange. Like something was bubbling in his insides.

"I- Thank you." He says, not so sure how to respond to such an open compliment. Your hand lifts, and for a second it looks like you're about to reach up and pat his head, before thinking better, and instead grabbed onto his arm. Whether it's for support or for comfort, he does not care. All he knows is that it's nice to be held so tightly.

"Hey, thank you so much for this." Your friend, walking up to behind you with her bag in her hand piped up. It was hard to believe this tired mother was the same woman giggling and teasing you back at the station. Or that you, always so attentive and determined at work were the same person stumbling and rambling in front of him. Humans truly did have so many different, strange sides.

"It's no problem." He assures her with a smile, hyper-aware of the fact that you had not let go of his arm. If anything, you were holding on tighter. He doesn't try to shake you off, instead moving a hand to your shoulder in what is an honest attempt to steady you. Though it doesn't seem to look that way to your friend, whose eyes narrow.

"You won't let them get hurt, right?" His programming tells him there's something beyond the words she speaks. An implication that if he did, or was the one doing the hurting, he would not come out of this a complete and fully functioning android.

"No, no- of course- no." His assurances come out in a quick stutter, as she finds what she needed from her bag, eyes trailing between you and him with a sharp stare. Utterly oblivious to the atmosphere, you give your two cents.

"Connor is like, super badass. He can punch and like- He's good at running and park- par- parkour? Yes- but it's very cool." You drawl, shaking his arm lightly with a laugh as his inner systems begin to whir nervously. You really were laying it on thick today. Your friend still looks a little dubious but relents.

"Send me a message when you get home." She tells you, patting your back gently before giving Connor one final nod. And then she's up the street, in her car and gone. Leaving Connor with a teetering co-worker, and the muffled sounds of music from the dim bar. He cleared his throat.

"To your apartment, then?" Connor asks as your eyes light up. He's more than eager to leave this gloomy street, and so are you it seems as you grin, using your free hand to point down the road with gusto.

"To my apartment!" You yell, moving forward with your arm still locked with his, pulling him along as you march at a pace no drunk person should have been able to keep.

It's a short walk, mercifully. Connor finds himself behind you most of the time, ready to steer you in the correct direction, ready to catch you before you fall. He's dealt with drunk people before, Hank being the main culprit. He's used to anger, outbursts and yelling. Not this bubbly, giggly state of a person. While it's refreshing, it's also unpredictable.

Getting you up to your apartment is an adventure on its own. You seem set on telling him all about your neighbours very loudly. Going on about who lived where and how loud they were. He only breathes easy once you're safely in your apartment, the door locked behind you as you drop your things to the ground.

"This is where I live!" You announce with open arms as Connor sighs, steering you by the shoulders towards your room.

"I know, I've been here before." He says, shocked at how well he's handling this. He was a professional of course, but you were a force of nature, and this was hardly a situation he'd practised in simulations upon first creation.

Still, Connor finds himself smiling fondly as you enter your room, flopping down onto your bed with an audible sigh. He takes a moment to relieve himself of his thick winter coat, leaving him in his button-up and slacks. He goes once around the house, checking the windows are shut and everything is up to his standards. He was told to keep you safe, so safe you would stay.

With you in your bed, ready to sleep, Connor feels he's played out his role. He can talk to you the next morning at the station, in a likely hungover and embarrassed state. A smile playing on his lips, Connor picks up his discarded jacket and moves towards the front door, ready to leave when the sound of your voice stops him in his tracks.

"Hey, Connor!" For a second he's worried your hurt, but the cheery nature of the call tells him otherwise. It wouldn't hurt to check on you though. Leaving the coat on a chair he ducks down the hall.

"Yes?" Connor steps into the doorway, clearing his throat awkwardly as he finds you changed into your pyjamas, sitting cross-legged with a pillow cuddle to your chest like a child at a sleepover. Your eyes light up when you see him, and before he can ask anything else you're speaking.

"Do you sleep? Not the way humans do- but do you ever rest?" Connor blinks a few times, processing your question slowly. Was this question important? The way you worded it certainly made it sound like it was. Happy to help, he answered your question simply.

"No. I have no need to." He says, going to step back into the living-room when you start talking again.

"Well you should try it, it's fuckinnn awesome." You grin, and Connor in his surprise has to hold in the short laugh that threatens to leave him. Wait, what? Since when did he laugh? Biting the inside of his cheek he gave a slow nod.

"I shall... keep that in mind." Once again he goes to leave, but your eager voice draws him in. And this time, you seem to intend it to be permanent.

"Come here! Try!" You open up your arms with gleaming eyes, dropping the pillow as you pat the bedsheets excitedly. Connor feels a shift near his thirium pump as he raises his hands.

"I don't know-" Lying in bed with you? That seemed highly inappropriate. And exactly the sort of thing he shouldn't be doing, if not for the sake of dignity, then to save his overclocked engines which seemed to be going into overdrive every time you so much as looked in his direction.

"C'mere!" You say again, moving forward and swinging your legs from the bed to the floor. He feels the need to protest, but it's like his vocalizer isn't working as he opens his mouth, finding no words of argument spilling out. Instead, he walks forward stiffly, letting your hands rest on his shoulders and sit you down beside him.

It's after some shuffling, he's sitting near the top, your hand still on his shoulders and his eyes fixed to the end of the bed. He can't feel much else, save for your gentle touch dancing on his shoulder blades, sending a small shiver up his spine. It only gets worse for Connor when you trail your hand up, tugging the beanie off his head and tossing it to the ground.

"Now lie back." Connor does as he is told, head hitting the pillow. It's not the first time he's laid in a bed, and it certainly doesn't seem any different, save for the figure lying at his side, leaning in their hand with a gentle smile. It was a smile that did things to his mind, forcing every thought or order, leaving empty space behind.

"See, isn't this nice?" You ask him, seemingly genuinely happy to find him resting. Or at least, resting this close beside you. Connors breath starts to come shallow, and in quick intervals.

"I can't really tell." He lies through his teeth, trying to figure out what exactly was going on with his body. It's strange, considering breathing is hardly a necessary function for his continued wakefulness. Glitches had always occurred when you were around, and after his deviancy, these bugs had only grown more common but this was... unprecedented. And hopefully not related to his growing... fondness, of you.

"Well, it's nice to me." The heat that he had previously managed to vent off was rising again, in his torso and head. Trying to subtly look himself over, a diagnostic tells him nothing is wrong. The thirium flushing his cheeks told him otherwise, but if you noticed, you made no comment.

"What is it like?" You ask him after a long pause. He looks back quizzically, only to find you staring upwards, hands lying on your chest.

"What is what like?" He asks, eyes following your gaze up the ceiling. It's white, bare and marked with a few unseemly cracks. Nothing if particular interest.

"Being an android and always doing one thing and- and then- Boom! A deviant! Emotions, feelings, conflicting crap! I mean, it must be weird? Right?" He hears a shift and assumes you've turned to stare, but for the life of him, he cannot seem to tear away his eyes to meet yours.

"The change was... jarring, I'll admit." He says, noting how much easier it is to talk to you when he doesn't have to look. No need to worry about eye contact, or facial expressions and gestures. He felt himself beginning to cool once more. No need to worry. It was nothing stressful, just talk.

"Was it like you didn't feel things and then... you do?" He ignored the bad grammar and concentrated on what you were asking, chewing on the question like a piece of meat.

"No, it's like... it's like a buildup." Slow but fast, sudden but like it's been there all along. He wants to word it in a way that makes sense to your still alcohol induced mind, so biting the bullet, he turns his head and meets your eyes, starting his small monologue as he does.

"It's... at the back of your mind, and you don't notice it. Time goes by and you find that your worldview... your actions, they're changing. Things that seemed easy before are impossible, and thoughts you aren't supposed to have fill your head. Your body isn't your own but- it is? It's as if everything is the same but... new." You don't say anything as he rambles, nor much when he's done. Nodding and staring with a wistful gaze tinted only with the glaze of exhaustion and too much tequila. His mouth is firmly shut, wondering if he should have given a simple answer after all when you talk.

"Sounds like falling in love." You sound nearly amused, while your words hit Connor like a freight train.

Love. It was a heavy word for humans, but for an android like him? Deviant or no, it was tricky. Tricky to define when you have nothing to compare it to. The difference between friend and lover, platonic and romantic was difficult enough for him to draw the line between. He still found himself shocked when he witnessed people in public who he thought were simply friends kiss like the whole world wasn't watching, or vice versa when what he thought was a couple split up to go meet with their actual significant others. Humans turned out to be a lot more affectionate than he had first thought

"Does it?" He asks, honestly unsure of the concept. He's barely able to recognize it in public, he's sure that feeling it is torture itself. Yes, he felt something for you. Something gripping and breathtaking.

But was that love? Was that what love was? He didn't know for sure just yet.

"Yeah, I've felt that way before." You mumble, offering a half smile that forces his mind into another blank. Did you feel that way now? About someone he knew? The thought of you being with someone else sent a prickly feeling in his chest, making his fingertips flex and flinch. He wanted to ask you about it, but when he opens his mouth no words come out. He's just lying there, staring at you dumbly as you stare back.

"Have you?" You ask a question he's been fearing. Something he's asked himself over and over. He'd done hours upon hours of research, but all the results were different. If you love someone let them go, if you love something take it with you. Answers to his questions brought up things telling him it was just a crush, it's infatuation, you're soulmates. It feels overwhelming, it feels soothing. No straightforward instructions, no easy way out.

He knows he cannot call you only a friend. He knows what he feels for you is not something that he can define so simply. You're a friend, but you're also so, so much more. Were you just a friend, he wouldn't be feeling these urges deep in his stomach. The urge to slide his hand into your hair and feel how soft it is, or lean over right this instance and kiss your lips, hold you into his chest and never leave. To stay late into the night and early morning so he can make breakfast and look after you after your hangover. Take you to work, go out for lunch and then come back home together. To stay at your side and never have to leave.

If that's what love is, then yes. He's felt that way. He's felt that way for a very long time now.

"I... I'm not sure yet." He lies through his teeth, and you, in your still tipsy state take it at face value and nod, a gorgeous, sleepy smile adorning your face.

"I wouldn't worry about it." You say gently, fingers tapping out a tune on your stomach. Connor blinks a few times, watching for any sign of teasing in your expression. He finds nothing of the sort in your open, gentle smile.

"No?" He asks, and you shake your head sagely. It's funny how calm you've gotten now that you were starting to come down from your alcohol induced high. Babbling and tired, he quite liked the sound of your voice like that in his ear. Low and mumbling, it sent a shiver down his plastic and wire spine.

"No. You'll get there. And if you don't, who cares? You've got Hank and Sumo and me. Friendship is way better than that." Connor smiles on the outside and dies on the in. That was the one thing he'd never seemed to put enough thought into. Liking you was all well and good, but it meant nothing if you didn't feel the same.

"Yeah... friendship." He nods and gives you a forced smile. Surely you can feel it too? How different your relationship is to his and Hanks or yours and your friend. Hell, she'd openly been teasing you about something to do with him earlier today. Something he still didn't quite know the answer to.

"Can I ask you a question?" You grin and bring the back of your hand up to try and hide the snorting laughter that falls from your lips. It's music to his ears.

"Is it a personal one?" You giggle, and he breaks out a smile at hearing such a familiar phrase.

"No. At least, I do not think so," He frowns a bit, earning another small giggle before he speaks again. "I was just wondering... what your friend meant. At the station?" Your brow furrows for a moment.

"What?" You seem to have forgotten, and Connor is more than happy to jog your memory. You? Not so much.

"She said you were- thirsting? Thirsty?" He says, and like a candle being snuffed out the smile falls from your face, mouth opening in a wide 'O'.

"Oh? OH."Connor reads mortification and embarrassment on your face, something he finds quite amusing. It's hard for him not to smile at the expression as he keeps talking, his sensors told him that the blood flow to your cheeks was most certainly manifesting in a blush.

"But not in the normal way." He continues, and you cringe, gritting your teeth as you no doubt go back to the moment.

"Yeah..." You trail off, and Connor raises an eyebrow. What kind of thing was making you, drunk you so flustered? He found himself with a tugging eagerness to find out.

"What did she mean?" He inquires, the corners of his lips turning up as he watches you stutter and fall over your words.

"Well, it's uh... a thing. People say it when they find..." You murmur, moving a hand up to absently play with your hair. If it's a distraction target it's working, but not well enough as he presses on.

"They find...?" Connor prompts you, only for his entire system to momentarily shut down at your answer.

"Another person... attractive.... sexually" Wait. But you were- And he was the only-

Oh.

Oh.

The smile on his face that had once been so hard for him to form was growing wide in a grin that sent your hands to your face, covering your good-looking face in shame.

"Do you find me sexually attractive?" He hears you wince as he speaks, poking your eyes through cracks in your fingers, groaning at the smug expression on his face.

"Well, yes, you're clearly attractive." You say, but it's not an answer. Certainly not the one he's looking for at least.

"But do you find me attractive?" He asks, and you give an extended, reluctant sigh in response.

"... Yes..." You mumble. And even though it's one word, spoken quieter than a whisper, it hits him like he's been restarted with some jumper cables. Energy surging through him like fireworks exploding in his chest

You found him attractive. You found him sexually attractive. Enough so that when he was so dishevelled and messy at work today- you'd been staring at him with that in mind. And it had been obvious enough that your friend had noticed and called you out on it then and there. And if he'd actually known what he knew now, he might've been able to pick up on it, be smooth with you. Flirt with you. Now that he knew this, the possibilities- his chances with you were so much better.

He would file this information away for later. When you were sober, and together on a night that would not be followed by police work. For now, he could bask in this victory, lying at your side and staring into your eyes with the reverence one would hold for a god.

"I find you attractive too." He tells you, and it's your turn to momentarily shut down, blinking as your breath hitched. Rubbing your cheeks and eyes with an awkward hand as you shrugged and answered quietly in that wonderful, melody like sleepy voice.

"Oh. That's- uh. Thank you." You stutter, going into silence as your eyes lock in a deep stare once more, before flickering down to his lips. Connor feels like a weight has been dropped on his chest as you think about it. Biting your lip, your breathing going shallow. His fingertips twitch, and you lean in. Close enough that he can smell burning alcohol and fragrant shampoo, close enough that he could reach out and hold your face in his hands. Closer, and closer until...

"I think the alcohol is wearing off." You tell him before you make any move to lean in any more. Connor blinks himself back into reality, dissapointment that is quickly replaced with relief. He knows it's for the better, head tilting back to its original position, looking back up at the ceiling.

"I think you should get some rest." He tells you, now unsure of what to do. Get out of bed and leave? Go sleep on the couch? You make the decision for him when your hand extends out, taking him by the wrist.

"That sounds nice. Hey, Connor?" Your fingers interlock with his and he's nearly buzzing with the contact, turning his head to look at you one final time.

"Thank you for... being here. Not just now, but like all the time. Like- like being around and being there for me too I- Am I making sense?" You mumble, exhaustion now completely evident in your eyes. It's now that Connor knows he's made the right choice by staying, running a thumb along your index finger as you snuggle into your pillow and under your sheets.

"Perfect sense," He tells you, settling into the position he knows he will hold for the next 8 hours. "Goodnight, Y/N." He whispers softly, a hand moving out to brush some hair from your face.

"... Night, Connor." You yawn, and Connor watches one final drowsy smile rise on your face before you slip into a deep sleep, your own assigned guardian angel watching over your safe slumber.


	23. Deviate (Connor x Reader) [Feelings End 2]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hope this is okay! It was pretty stressful to write if I'm honest lol.

CONFLICTING ORDERS

That's all Connor can see. Red letters, blue letters. Letters, letters filling up his view. Blocking out the snow, blocking out the world. Blocking out everything but you, him and the two terrifying decisions laid out in front of him.

CHOOSING PRIORITY

How can he choose? He doesn't want to choose. He doesn't want this, he's so sick of having to choose.

SHOOT MARKUS

His head jerks toward the barricaded crowd. His target.

FOLLOW THEM

Then it's back to staring at you. His... his...

His what? He doesn't know. He can't tell, with the red brick-like wall of code that separated the two of you. Blurring and obfuscating your physical form and whatever opinions... thoughts... emotions lay on the other end. It's strange to him, that this is something that's been there his entire life. That he's just followed and obeyed because he was told to. Don't go this way, don't leave the station, don't touch this. 

Don't follow you. 

Connor balled up his fist, fingers straining in what he thinks is frustration. He scoffs.

Don't follow Y/N

Well... what if he wanted to?

The punch he lays on the structure sends no pain in his arm as it connects, sending a ripple up the wall. It doesn't do much damage, but it tells him what he needs to know. It tells him that he can touch it. In whatever out of body state, he's currently in, his hands can press against it, and he can destroy it.

He grabs at it, fingers finding their place on ledges that stick out, and he tears down. He rips it to shreds like weak fabric, letting the red blocks shatter and fall, like his regard for his orders. Shatter and fall like his original purpose. With each crack and hole, sounds get louder. His mind gets sharper and sharper until, finally, he's through.

It all happens too quick for him to celebrate or comprehend. The wall shatters, and he's back in his body, but it's not the same. No, he's not the same.

Connor drops the gun. He drops to his knees and the weapon clatters to the ground and cracks loudly, half resting in a pile of snow. He barely hears it happen, hands pressed flat to the ground as he heaves a breath.

He can breathe.

He can feel.

He can feel concrete, gritty under his artificial skin. Stones pressing into the plastic and metal of his fingers. Actually feel it- not just registering it with sensors and some faint categorization. His sense of touch isn't just accurate, it's clear.

He could feel snow falling on his body and clothes. It was in his hair, catching between strands. It's cold, too. Everything up here is cold. Uncomfortable. The snow, the atmosphere. It settles in his stomach with a sense of unease. How had he not really noticed that before? The sounds? The crunch of snow under a boot? The whistle of wind carrying sleet?

The sound of an opening metal door.

"Y/N!" Strange how he'd nearly forgotten the trigger for this entire change. The trigger of his... deviancy. You couldn't go yet, not with everything that had just happened.

Looking up he found your figure paused at the door, staring at his kneeling figure with a hesitancy that- that hurts. He can feel it warping in his chest, tightening and... suffocating? His first thought, worried and anxious is that he'd been damaged. That alone is shocking- a want for self-preservation beyond that of simply needing to stay alive for CyberLife's sake. 

In your posture, your body language, he does not find the affection and tenderness you'd shared with him only minutes ago. It's ironic how badly he's yearning for that now, with an aching feeling he'd only heard described by love-sick humans he'd once passed off as fools.

When you start walking over he can feel his breath catch, struggling to find the urge to stand up. He stares on, your face becoming focused as you walked closer, the details of your hair and nose and... everything, coming into brilliant focus.

"Connor?" You're worried, of course, you are. You'd just admitted your love for him and he'd so brutally rejected you, and now, seconds later, here he was on the ground. Calling your name with the fervency of a dying man. He knows he needs to settle your fears somehow, instructions on how to approach the situation are flickering in his view but he cannot find the words to tell you what he's feeling. He can barely focus on a single thought.

"Y/N- I'm-" He reaches a hand out towards you. A gentle move to grasp at your hand but you don't reciprocate the action. No, you step back, hands up in a defensive position. Like you were preparing for him to attack you.

"Is this a trick- what's going on with you?" He notes fear in your voice. Anxiety. He's sure it's a pitiful sight. On the ground, knelt before you like some lesser person in the presence of royalty. Funny how in a matter of minutes the situation and his feelings had changed.

"I'm- You tried to leave, and I wanted to follow you," He explained, your eyes watching him with a piercing animosity. "There was a wall and I-I broke through." You stayed completely still, biting your lip as a slow realization took your features.

"You're telling me you... went deviant?" Shock lines your voice, eyes narrowing as more disbelief floods in.

"Yes." He answers honestly, but you're still not convinced. Why would you be?

"Just now?" You laugh a little, but it's a hollow one, bringing a hand up to thread in your hair in a stress-fueled action. He feels like he'd appreciate how wonderful you look were he not so utterly taken with stress and tension.

"Yes." He says again, pleading with you with his sad expression as he stared up at your furrowed brow. Your jaw sets.

"... Really?" You sound tired more than anything. Connor thought you'd be happy. That you'd want to smile and laugh, hug him tight. He'd apologize and make things right. He thought you'd at least want to touch him- to be near him. Maybe he was simply mixing up his own wishes with yours.

"I swear- I'm telling the truth." Realizing you aren't going to make any move towards him, Connor stands up, pushing himself up with shaky hands and shaky legs. You still watch him like a hawk, eyes flickering to the amassed group he'd so closely come to massacring.

"So... so you won't hurt Markus? Or any of the other deviant androids?" No. He held no hatred for them, no nothing. There were no more orders from Amanda, no more CyberLife instructions. His loyalty lay elsewhere, with the deviants, with Hank. And with you.

"No." Determination and strength flood his voice as you watch. You're apprehensive, but your shoulders fall, your defensive stance relaxing. A spark alights in his heart as he thinks that maybe, just maybe, he's getting there.

"And you won't... you won't hurt me?" With each word, Connor feels as if a piece of wire has punctured his organs, threading through and stringing them up like a beaded necklace of wounds.

"No, never." He says, but that's not true. Never again would have been apter. Judging by the bitter, scathing the look in your eyes, you agreed.

"You're feeling emotions?" You ask, crossing your arms with a stony expression on your face. Connor swallows nervously, knowing that if he could sweat, he'd be drenched with it right now.

"Yes." He doesn't elaborate, hoping you'd leave it there. But you don't. No, like a true police officer, you interrogate.

"What are you feeling?" Connor pauses for a moment. How does he define that which he does not know? For all he knew, this pain was just a normal part of being a deviant. A throbbing chest and a twisting stab where his stomach would be.

"... Regret," He decides and then falters. "At least- I think. Guilt as well. And-" He pauses again, his brain replaying all the cruel words he'd said, aching for the sweet hope in your eyes and the eager lilt in your voice you'd had only minutes ago. Where were they? He wanted to see them now that he could appreciate them in full.

"Something else." Something he knows he shouldn't say aloud right now. Especially after his reaction when you said it to him.

"So you feel bad?" You ask, with a look that makes him want to shrink away under the ground. How had this gone so badly? What had he done wrong?

"Yes." Sincerity coats his tone, his words dripping with it, but you either do not notice or do not care, lips pulling into an angry sneer.

"Good." You spit the word like venom, frustration giving the word a searing, razored edge. You're both quiet for a number of seconds, you watching him cracking under the pressure you'd applied to his chest before letting your arms drop to the side, turning on your heel.

"Where- Where are you going?" His voice is jittery, distress lining every vowel as you walk away, waving your hand as you reach the door.

"I'm getting Hank and stopping a massacre. You said it yourself, you're a deviant now. No more orders, you decide where you're going." Swinging it open you give him another pointed look. It wasn't even a matter of choice to him.

"I want- I want to go with you." He says, taking a step forward only to stop as you sucked a loud breath in through your nose.

"And if I don't want to be near you right now?" You ask, and Connor's lip quivers, gasping for a short breath.

"I don't- What I said- I didn't mean-" He'd apologised, he'd been sincere he'd- he'd even reciprocated your feelings. Why... what was he doing wrong?

"But you did mean it, didn't you?" He flinches at the truth of the statement. He had meant it then. And he despised the fact he ever did.

"I- Yes, but I was only... I was only a machine." He argued, but you held up a hand, chewing the inside of your cheek as you gave him a strict stare.

"But you still said it, with the intention of hurting me. You wanted to hurt me, and you did. Regardless of what you feel now, you hurt me." Connor reels at that, a prickling feeling in his gut. If this was what it was like being deviant, then he didn't want to be one anymore. It hurt, everything hurt. Even the warmth he felt looking at your face hurt him, burning through his chest, building pressure in his thirium pump.

Is this how he made you feel? Were you feeling this now? Like a pit has opened up inside you? Like you were dying slowly and painfully. Had he done this to you?

"I'm... I'm sorry, Y/N, I'm so sorry." He mumbles, his heart catching as your eyes soften for just a moment. Giving him a gentle look that makes him melt and ache, before it's gone, leaving him empty once again.

"Whatever you have to say you can do it later. I have a job to do, and you have to do whatever you feel is necessary." You tell him in a voice he knows is final. His eyes go to the floor, blinking back the water beginning to leak from his eyes.

"... I can't fix this, can I?" It's more to himself than anything, but you answer regardless.

"... We'll talk later." That hurts more than any insult you could have thrown. This response, avoiding the question at hand, it told him everything he needed to know. The door shuts, and Connor is left alone, snow building in his hair and jacket. 

The trust he'd built, the friendship you'd formed. He'd torn it all to pieces. Shot dead before he'd even had the chance to pull the trigger on his gun. How ironic it was that he only now replayed memories of you in his head with such strained heartstrings. The first time you smiled at him, the way you'd call his name, your touch.

He's never ached for anything, and he doesn't think he ever wants to again. To be able to see you smile at him just one more time, he guesses that this is what love is. Wanting and hurting. It isn't as fun as all those movies and music made it out to be.

Neither is being alone. He doesn't know how he stood it before. The silence is deafening and sickening all at once. It's crushing him, everything is crushing him. Hands move up to wipe away tears from cold cheeks. The first tears he's ever wept in his short life. Is this how it begins? With a broken heart and loneliness that's all his fault?

The shouting below is finally reaching his ears. Fighting between the deviants and the humans has begun. A fight for freedom that, until recently, he'd been so set against. A fight that now decided whether he as a conscious, emotive being would live.

He knows what he has to do.

Sniper rifle broken on the ground, he relies on the gun in his back pocket, moving out towards the door with the coordinates to his destination locking in.

Maybe he can't fix what happened with you, but he can make an effort. He can try. Try to undo all the wrong he's done, to his friends and to his people alike.

He'd go to CyberLife Tower. He'd awaken all the hundreds of androids in a dormant state- he'd prove to you that he was sorry, prove to his people that he was more than Amanda's pawn. He'd do it all if it meant redemption in your eyes.

Even if it meant dying in the process.

He'd do it for you.


	24. Spares (Markus x Reader)

This was incredibly stupid.

That's the sentence that runs in your mind over and over as you walk through the doors of this CyberLife repair shop. This is stupid, you're going to be arrested, you're going to be shot you're going to kill yourself doing this. Through your mind these anxious sentences run, bringing up the same question you'd been asking yourself since you'd concocted your plans.

Was this worth it?

Absolutely.

You'd always had a knack for robotics. Fixing up the tv for your parents when you were in your teens, deconstructing remotes and toys to see what made them tick. Hell, at sixteen you'd started developing your own engines and had plans to become one of the top mechanical engineers at CyberLife.

That changed when you met Charlotte.

Well, bought was a little more apt. Your first android was gifted to you by your parents, an ST200 model. Or, as they are more commonly known, a Chloe. You didn't keep the name, changing it to something to make her a little unique. She worked as a receptionist and a housemaid while you did small time android repairs. Little things like fixing up irregular pumps and providing thirium cheaper than what CyberLife was selling them for.

She was friendly and kind, and you often had to remind yourself that she wasn't a human, she was an android. Incapable of actual emotion or feelings. That's what you thought for a very long while until that changed as well.

3 years into having Charlotte, you'd developed a set system and timetable that she always kept to. So when she wasn't home an hour after she was supposed to be, you were getting worried. What if she'd gotten lost? Picked up by a stranger? You stress and stress until, after another whole hour later, she came home. Just not in the state you'd been hoping.

It was a pounding at the door that caught your attention, along with the shouts of a terrified woman who's familiar voice sent ice through your veins. In seconds you're on your feet and ripping open the door, only for Charlotte to fall into the apartment on her hands and knees, covered in a sickening sheen of blue blood. But that's not what sends a shiver up your spine.

You'd seen damaged androids during your repairs. You'd seen androids missing limbs or covered in gashes from accidents at work or in the street. But you'd never seen an android cry before that day.

Charlotte had been sobbing and shaking on the ground, staining your carpet blue with blood that would evaporate in a matter of hours. But that wasn't your worry then. It's your instincts that kick into action, grabbing your repair tools and sitting her down to begin your treatment, soothing her with a gentle voice as you worked.

Through floods of tears, she told you how she'd been attacked by anti-android protestors, intent on destroying her as a means of letting their anger out. She apologized for being unable to retrieve the parts you needed, but that was hardly the most urgent matter at hand.

It took too many painstaking, hours but your diligence paid off, and not long after you found yourself on the couch, arms wrapped around your friend

She was afraid. Panicking and crying, and that's when you first realized that androids were more than just machines. Maybe their bodies were artificial, but those tears and that anguish was real. And as you thought about it, something that a number of other androids likely felt as well.

She wasn't a commodity, like some new phone or computer. She was a living being, who you'd bonded with over these past few years. A person you loved and cared for like a little sibling, and who cared for you in the same way. It's then that you realize you have a responsibility. A gift that you can use to help others like her, giving you a purpose you were more than happy to have.

From then on your work changed. Less and less you'd do repairs for people with money, and more for abandoned androids. It was only recently that they had a name for themselves. 'Deviant'. You'd spend hours in your house talking to them as you fixed up their parts, Charlotte working with you, at your side.

But without money from official repairs, your stocks began depleting. Parts were getting harder to find, especially for much older models looking for help, and your secret little trips to the nearby android junkyard had become less of a time to search for spare parts and more of a place to rescue and repair deviant androids. Your bleeding heart was beginning to take a toll on the rest of you, so, with your options running out and a long night of watching all the Oceans Eleven films, you developed a plan.

So here you were. A knife in your pocket, tools on your belt and a stupid, stupid hope to get inside the back warehouse and shove as many spare parts as you can find into a duffle bag.

Yeah, as plans went this was pretty stupid. But so far it had worked.

You were lucky that a commotion occurred right outside the open doors, some young woman yelling and shouting about something you couldn’t care enough about. As the worker at the front desk moved forward to deal with whatever was going on, you’d managed to slip past and enter the

Rows and rows of boxes full of everything you need lay in front of you. Labelled with different model codes and labels. It's like you’ve opened the door to a treasure trove, and you can’t hide the smile on your face as you think of how happy your android friends at home will be when you show them how many parts you’d managed to snag.

Ducking into the nearest aisle you take out a list, going through the model codes and parts you need, along with any spares. You reach the first box you need, ready to open it up when the sound of movement down the aisle stops you.

“What are you doing?” A voice calls out to you, close to where the door is, and your head whips around to find an android, dressed in the CyberLife Repair uniform. You feel a cold shiver of dread up your spine as you realize he’s staring right at you. You’d already been caught.

Your hand twitches towards your knife, and the android steps forward in response. Into the flickering fluorescent light, where you could clearly see him. Your heart stutters once you saw his face, prepared for him to call for help when your eyes pick out his features.It’s then that you realize something was wrong.

This android wasn’t a model you recognised. You knew androids, you pride yourself on every single model, having memorized every name and face. But this one was completely unknown to you, and that made your stomach turn with uncertainty. The code on his uniform was wrong, and his eyes, a sharp green and blue were unlike any you’d seen before in an android. CyberLife were obsessed with symmetry, with order. He looked more human than anything. This wasn’t any normal android.

“What are you doing?” You shoot back, taking a step back from the box with your eyes narrowed. He doesn’t seem to have a weapon, but you still don’t want to let him get close. Something told you this one wasn’t one to be messed with.

“I asked you first.” He says, eyes narrowing as yours do the same. You slowly raise your hands up to show you’re unarmed. Oh yeah, there’s no way this guy was just a non-deviant android.

“I asked you second.” You say. Even if he is a deviant you’re not about to tell him what you’re doing here. Not just yet anyways. You see him shift, eyes flickering to the door behind him as he casts a quick glance behind him, before fixing them back on you.

“I work here.” It’s so obviously a lie that you have to fight yourself from snorting. Slowly lowering your arms you shook your head, pointing to his jacket.

“No you don’t. That code is wrong. You’re not a EL700. I know those models, I’ve worked on them before,” Your eyes flicker up to meet his, an intelligent glint in your eyes. “You’re not supposed to be back here.” A half smile perks at the corner of your mouth, but the android in front of you stays expressionless.

“Neither are you. You’re a human.” He says with a layer of distrust that tells you all you need to know. It made sense. Building trust with most of the androids who came looking for help was difficult due to the past abuse they’d experienced at the hands of vile humans. It hurt to see them flinch away, but you understood. You never pried or pushed them to share. And you wouldn’t do so now.

“I need parts.” You say, leaving it at that. Your hands move to the box, but he steps forward, and you take a step back again. You didn’t have much time, couldn’t this guy just leave it be?

“So you’re stealing them?” He says it like it’s not exactly what he’s about to do, and frustration begins to bubble in your stomach. It wouldn’t be long until the commotion outside died down, and the workers would come back to find you both here. You would prefer not to be shot today, but apparently this android has a death wish. And he was beginning to get on your last nerve.

“I can’t exactly go to CyberLife and ask them to repair deviant androids.” Sarcastic words leave your mouth before you can even stop them, cringing at your sudden oversharing. You see his brows crease, a look of near bewilderment on his face.

“You’re helping deviants?” He sounds doubtful, but you don’t have the time to argue or justify yourself, holding out a hand to keep him at bay. You weren’t going to die today.

“What else would I need these for?” You sigh, ducking your hand into your pocket. You see him tense, but ignore it as you fumble around for your knife, dropping your duffle bag to the ground.

“And I’d assume you are as well. So can we move this along and take what we need? I don’t want to spend any more time here.” As you speak you fish out your knife, quickly digging it into the nearest box before he gets any ideas. You see him flinch and then relax as you jimmy it open, keeping your eyes on the box.

“You won't sell us out?” You sigh loudly and send him a look.

“Fuck CyberLife. Do what you have to. I know I will.” And with that you rip open the box, pulling up your duffle bag and shoving whatever parts you can fit inside. PL600, WK400, YK500. They have it all and more. As you move up and down the halls, tipping things into your bags, you notice the android doing the same.

Working together, but not together, you manage to clear a whole shelf. It takes a matter of 7 or 8 minutes, and now you know your time is running short. From the sounds through the door you know the store is full again, and there was no doubt they’d notice someone like you coming through the front door. You hadn’t planned on taking this long. A sick feeling settles in your stomach as you bite your lip. This wasn’t good.

The android hefts his own bad over his shoulder, turning to look at you. He seems to realize your problem quickly, nodding to a nearby wall blocked by some boxes.

“We have less than five minutes before they come in here. You’ll need to get out this way.” He tells you, walking over and making short work of the crates, revealing an exit door that had before gone unnoticed.

Quietly you both crack open the door, the android giving you the all clear as he steps through. You find yourself around the back in a car park, nothing but a few trucks and cars. Trucks being loaded in the distance. Your breath catches as he raises a finger to his lips, nodding to an nearby alleyway. You give him a nod.

Slipping past the trucks takes effort, but you manage it, ducking into the dark alley behind some dumpsters, heaving a loud breath of relief.

You’d done it. You’d stolen from CyberLife. Avoided the cameras, avoided detection. And you’d done it all with the help of an unknown deviant android. Back slumped against the wall, you let out a shaky laugh.

“Holy shit…” You whisper, looking over at the android who seems to be shaking off the uniform he’d worn over his normal clothes. The disguise was clever, and he’d certainly done more research than you had on the place. Maybe he wasn’t so useless after all. You offer him a small smile.

“What’s your name?” You ask, catching him off guard as he looks at you, blinking a few times. There’s hesitance, which makes sense, but he answers.

“Markus.” He tells you. You’ve no way of telling if it’s the truth, but something inside you believes as you nod, smiling a little wider.

“Well, Markus, my name’s Y/N.” You sigh, getting off the wall and adjusting the bag under your arm. “If you ever find yourself in the Woodbridge area, give me a call.” You walk past him, looking down at the exit to the bustling Detroit streets. Perfect for you to slip into unnoticed. You look back at him, giving one last warm smile.

“I think that, maybe, we’ll be able to help each other.”


	25. Expectancy (Connor x Reader)

When Connor was informed that you had not come into work today, he had his concerns. You were a police officer, you had a job to do. Of you were unwell then that could cause issues with the department. He brought up this with Hank, only to be confused when he was informed that you likely would not appreciate an opinion like that on the matter. With far more expletives, mind you.

Another day passed, and then another and Connor found himself becoming frustrated. You were supposed to be working a case with him, and he did not appreciate having his work ground to such a sudden halt. Why did you have to waste his time like this? He wasn't impressed.

It's on the fourth day that he snaps. Coming into work to find your desk empty again, Connor turns tail and leaves. Before Hank or anyone can say a word to him he's out the door, on a warpath to your apartment.

Did you simply not care about your work? There's no way a human could be this sick without needing medical attention, but you had not admitted yourself to any nearby hospital. You were impeding his research and his time. He was not about to let himself fail his first task as an official member of the DPD. You were not about to fail this mission for him.

It's a short walk to your apartment, shorter even up the stairs as he reaches the door, practically steaming from the ears. He knocks on the once, no answer. Then again, and again and again until finally, he hears your voice, thick and congested, calling out to him.

"Who is it?" You ask with a sniffle, and Connor is rash in his answer.

"It's me, Connor!" He shouts, his artificial hearing picking up a groan and some shuffling before you respond. His fingers twitched with irritation at that.

"The door open!" That didn't seem safe in the slightest. Connor would have to bring that up with you later when he wasn't this annoyed. Twisting the doorknob and pushing open the door.

Your apartment is a familiar sight. One he'd visited quite a few times after the android rebellion and his subsequence deviancy. Normally he looked forward to coming inside, but this was not one of these times. Your living room is nice. Modestly decorated and cosy. Connor himself has looked over these walls and few paintings a number of times, but he'd never seen you in a state like this.

Blankets covered most of your body, leaving only your head free as you lay completely still, not even looking his way as you sat back. The tv is on, playing music, and there are tissues by your bedside, tinted a reddish orange with what his scans tell him is earwax. It's disgusting, but he doesn't comment once he settles on your face, pale and sickly, with tired and glassy eyes.

"You're sick." He's not sure what he expected. For you to be faking it? That very clearly isn't the case now he's seeing it face-to-face. He's never seen you look worse, in fact. He's so caught up that he nearly doesn't notice how all his anger and frustration has slipped away.

"Really? I hadn't noticed." Your sarcasm is noted, and he supposes well deserved. You continue to not look at him, and Connor has a hard time telling whether it's because of the illness, or because he's upset you.

"What's wrong?" He asks, watching as you groan and blink. Not a single part of the rest of your body moves.

"I got Labyrinthitis, and then a cold." A quick search tells him all he needs to know of the illnesses. A cold is simple, but this Labyrinthitis? Not so much. An inflammation within the ears that makes a person's head spin and causes vertigo and imbalance, often leaving the afflicted person unable to move. Connor feels a slight twist in his stomach, a feeling he's only recently learnt is guilt.

"Has this happened before?" Connor tilts his head, staring down at your sweat-covered brow. You let out a sigh, slowly moving your arms beneath the blankets.

"Yeah, like 5 times every year." Connor's face blanches, giving you a long stare for any sign of joking. There was none, and yet again Connor felt another heavy pang of guilt. Why had you not told him it was this serious?

"How are you coping?" He kneels down to your level, and you move your eyes, wincing a little as you try to give him a smile.

"I'm not." You laugh, and Connor gives you another scan. Multiple pop-ups tell him your words were indeed correct, and that your state is worse than you or he had thought.

"If you cannot move, how are you eating or drinking." He fears he already knows the answer to this as your cringe, looking back up at the ceiling in shame.

"I'm... not. The last time I ate was yesterday." Connor feels his eyes twitch, fingers playing with the coin in his pocket anxiously. How could you do this to yourself? Why had you not told him the extent of the illness? Humans, you were fragile. If you needed assistance, you should have just asked.

Stubborn creatures you were, he'd seen it with Hank. He didn't understand what made it so difficult to seek help. He's made to help, and even if it's nowhere near the way a PL600 or an AX400, but he can try. Your time here is short. This is something that Connor has slowly had to come to terms with. Knowing that you and Hank will be gone one day is a painful thought, one that outweighs the stress from work. He would prefer that you both be healthy for the rest of the time you would spend together.

Pushing himself up to his feet, Connor adjusted his cuffs, casting a quick glance to your kitchen. It was clean, luckily. And seemed to be fully stocked. Perfect for the moment.

"What do you want to eat?" Connor asks, looking back to find your face is in an expression of puzzlement.

"Sorry?" You ask, almost as if you thought you had misheard him. The slightest smirk crosses Connors' face. He admits housework is the last thing he would like to be doing, but if it would help you and, of course, move the investigation along, he was willing to do it just this once.

"You need sustenance to function. What do you want to eat?" Connor asks once more, letting you think for a moment.

"Oh, uh," You blink a little deliriously, thinking for a moment. "Soup, I, uh, I guess? Connor, you really don't-" He doesn't listen, walking over to the kitchen, finding a packet of chicken noodle soup, he gets to work. There' small conversation, but it's stilted. Connor is too busy attempting to fight off the guilt that was still settled in his stomach. He'd doubted you, and you'd suffered in silence. It was hardly his fault that you hadn't told him, yes, but he couldn't help but think that if he'd acted a little more accommodating...

It's a short 10 minutes and the soup is done. Connor helps you up, not ignorant to the huffing of your breath and wincing as the world no doubt spun around you. His hands linger on your shoulders maybe a moment too long before he snaps out of it, taking the soup off the side table to hand to you.

"Thank you." You croak, bringing the spoon up to your mouth. Connor strangely finds his chest prickling in anticipation, something that is only explained once it's calmed by the happy expression on your face.

"This is really good, thank you, Connor." Now you're sitting up, making full eye-contact, Connor can feel heat building around his neck and cheeks at the compliment. He'd been praised for good work before, but somehow this was different.

"I'm happy that it meets your standards, I'm-" He pauses for a moment, eyes flickering down to your hands. They'd been freed from the blanket cocoon when you'd pushed yourself up, now laying bare on top of the pillow on your stomach. They were no doubt cold, being exposed to the open air. He could fix that.

Placing a cautious hand over yours, Connor lets his slender fingers gently brush against yours, his touch testing boundaries that you seem happy for him to break, linking your fingers with his own with slow movements.

"I'm looking forward to when you are well again." He speaks quieter, almost softly, and it's a tone he never saw himself taking. You smile at him gently, and briefly, he forgets his words, or what you two had even been talking about. Case and... work... something...

"Yeah?" There's a hint of eagerness to your tone, and Connor swallows synthetic saliva nervously as he decides to abort. Something is making him nervous, making him panic, and he doesn't like it. Or... he does? No. He was not dealing with this right now.

"Yes- Yes, this uh, case, is an interesting one. One I'll need your help with." Connor thinks he sees your smile falter for a moment, but it must be a trick of the light because once he blinks you're smiling back at him brightly, pulling up your knees with some trouble.

"Go on then, tell me what I've missed." You say, adapting to the subject change quicker than he thought you would. Connor finds himself once again blanking on any of the details, his memory banks felt like they'd been temporarily wiped as he opened his mouth, trying to will words out of his mouth.

"It's not very interesting..." He tries to backtrack, thinking about how he really should be at work now, but you seem intent, hands cupping his with an inquisitive look in your eyes that made his thirium pump skip for a moment.

"I've got time." You tell him, settling all his doubts and worries for the moment. Work could wait for now. You were sick, and he had a feeling that if he tried to return to the police station, he'd have great difficulty concentrating on anything to do with the case.

And besides. Humans didn't have as long as he did on this earth. He saw no harm in taking the odd day to appreciate the ones in his life.


	26. Accidental (Connor x Reader)

Now that Connor thought about it, maybe asking Hank for advice for advice on making friends was a bad idea. In fact, now he thought about it, asking the least personable person in the station -minus Gavin of course- was, in fact, a very bad idea.

Connor saw that now that you were yelling at him, hand over your afflicted shoulder, that this was definitely, a very bad idea.

“What the fuck, Connor?!” You shouted, taking a step back from him as he winced and put up his hands defensively. ‘Just punch them on the shoulder’ Hank said. ‘It’ll be nice and casual’ Hank said.

Hank forgot to mention, of course, the level of force one is supposed to use in a friendly punch. Apparently, full force was not the way to go. Watching the way your lip curled made his stomach drop. Why- Why was he never able to get this right?

“I was- I was attempting friendly human banter-” He begins as you jaw sets and you throw out your arm incredulously.

“So you punched me?! How did you think that wasn’t gonna happen?!” You screeched, and Connor found himself regretful that he had decided to do this in the rather public setting of the breakroom. Fellow police officers and detectives alike were taking one look at the scene, cringing and quickly making their exit. He really had done it this time.

“Hank said I should try to be more friendly, so-” He’s swiftly interrupted again as your eyebrows raise, a humourless laugh leaving your lips.

“So Hank told you to punch me and you fucking listened?” You say with a coughing laugh, running a hand through your hair out of stress. Connor cringes and reaches his hand out, but you’re already walking away.

“I’m just- I can’t. I cannot. We- Fuck. Fucking Christ.” Your swearing gets more and more distant as you walk away, drawing the attention of every person at every desk you pass. From over near the coffee station, Hank scoffs.

“You really fucked that one up, huh kid?” Connor fights the urge to punch Hank on the shoulder too.

You spend the rest of the day avoiding Connor, and Connor spends his time like a kicked puppy. He pouts whenever you’d avert your gaze from him during his attempts to catch your eye and mopes around the station when you dart out of the room to avoid his apologies. He worries that he’s permanently ruined his friendship with you. He hurt you. Maybe it wasn’t on purpose but he had still done so, and the shame of that had gone from settling in his stomach to dragging his entire body into sluggish remorse. By the end of the day, he’s a pile of synthetic depression, with one last plan to earn your forgiveness.

As you make a trip back from the bathroom, Connor corners you, slipping out in front of you with his hands raised, speaking before you can react.

“Give me just a minute.” He says pleadingly as you open your mouth, thinking for a moment before shutting it again and sighing.

“Fine.” You grumbled, crossing your arms as Connors’ hands duck into his pocket, pulling out an ice-pack. He’s happy to be rid of it, honestly. It’s been defrosting in his pocket a good 20 minutes now.

“I just wanted to give you this and apologize.” He extends the pack over to you, and you let it press into your hands, narrowing your eyes as you take it. He tries his best to sound sincere, but with his nerves this frayed, he reverts to the stilted language he was programmed with.

“I was attempting to engage in positive conversation with you, but I should have thought before taking Hanks advice. The- The last thing I wanted to do was hurt you-” He swallows as he pauses, watching you tentatively press the ice pack to your bruised shoulder.

“I want to spend more time with you, but I’m not so sure how to go about it- I thought Hank could help but then it didn’t and now I’m worried that I may have permanently damaged our friendship which isn’t what I want and I-” Like something clicks inside him, he’s suddenly rambling. Whirring into overdrive, he begins to let his thoughts fall into freely into the open air. It’s frightening that he’s being this open, but it’s also… nice. It’s not often that he’s spoken his mind like this.

“And I’m sorry.” He mumbles the end, eyes turning downwards to avoid your likely angry gaze. You sigh again, but this one holds no anger. Tentatively he looks up, meeting your tired, but un-enraged eyes. You give him a half smile, shrugging a best you can while still pressing the ice to your shoulder.

“I accept your apology, Connor. Next time just- just talk to me. I’d much prefer that to whatever… y’know.” You wave your hand and Connor nods, unable to keep the beaming smile off his face.

“Alright, well. Thanks for ambushing me as I came out of the bathroom. And… thanks for the apology.” You pat his shoulder, and Connor feels like this is a victory of sorts. You smiled at him, and he was able to settle any disagreements. With a bright smile, he waves as you begin to walk away, back into the bullpen.

“Have a good day, detective!” He says with a voice far more confident than how it was before. You turn your head and give him a wave back.

“You too! Don’t punch anyone else, please!” You say with the slightest smirk which he quickly returns.

“No promises!” He responds as you give one small laugh and turn the corner, leaving him alone with a blue blush and a beaming smile. His hands settle behind his back.

Now.

Time to go... 'talk' to Hank.


	27. Break (Connor x Reader)

Connor didn't get angry. That was the one emotion you simply never saw from the android. Sure he'd been frustrated and irritated and annoyed. You'd seen Connor get like that before, with furrowed brows and sharpened words. But you'd never ever seen him snap, not before today.

The police station was fairly empty. It was nearing the night shift, and most officers were heading home. There was a calm settling within the bullpen as one by one, human and android alike packed up their things and left offering waves and mumbles goodbye. The air in the room was cold and empty by 6 pm, a few of the lights flickered out in uninhabited areas like the breakroom. Here, it was only you, Connor and Detective Reed.

The past week had been a stressful one, with an anti-android riot breaking out in one of the busier districts of the city, a few officers were hurt while trying to protect androids caught in the crossfire. With androids gaining more rights by the day, those who felt prejudiced against them became more vocal and violent with their attacks. You felt lucky that these groups were becoming less sympathetic in the eyes of the public by the day, but you were sure your android friends and co-workers were still antsy. Who wouldn't be?

Taking a pause from your work you took a moment to stretch your aching muscles, raising your hands and cracking your fingers as you cast a nonchalant glance over to Connor's desk. Unlike the last few times you'd looked over at him (it had been more than a few) Connor seemed to be reading a magazine on a tablet. With one hand he held it in front of his face, the other resting on his cheek, propping himself up with his elbow. The sight of him taking a few minutes to himself brought a smile to your face. He was always working hard, you felt he deserved a break. This was not a shared opinion apparently, as Reed walked back from one of the vending machine, as disgusted sneer adorning his generally sour features.

"Are you taking a fucking break?" Gavin nearly sounds horrified as he stops at Connors desk. You feel a lurch in your stomach as Connor looks up, placing the tablet gently on his desk.

"Yes?" He asks in a calm voice. You know he doesn't want any trouble, but that's difficult with someone like Reed. The man was born looking for conflict. Anyone he could bully or demean he'd lock onto without a single shred of remorse.

"You're a machine, you don't need to fucking rest- get back to work, you're gonna have us lagging behind," Gavin swore at Connor, knocking over a cup full of pencils, making them clatter to the floor. The loud noise is startling, but the least of your problems. You knew how Gavin got when he was stressed, and you were not about to stand by and let him get violent. Jumping to your feet and out of your chair, you failed to notice the way Connor's jaw set.

"Reed, would you fuck off?" You yell, stalking over to take Connors side. Reed rolls his eyes and scoffs, turning his attention to you. Well, at least he isn't hassling Connor.

"He's made of plastic- He can handle it! Huh, can't you, you prick?" Nevermind. You rest a hand on Connor's shoulder and narrow your eyes at Reed. At first, the android says nothing, sitting still with the LED he never removed flickering wildly on his temple. 3 seconds pass, and you wait for him to retort with some calm sass. Connor does no such thing as he stands up suddenly, slamming his hands on the desk with frightening force. Both you and Gavin flinch.

"I'm fucking things up? You point guns to the heads of your co-workers, and I'm the one causing problems?" Connor's voice is raised, in a tone that you'd only ever heard him use during investigations. In those instances you knew he was putting on an act, trying to make someone talk. Right now you could hear his voice shaking, and the toxicity of the words. This wasn't just anger, this was fury and it was real and visceral. Despite such a scary display, Gavin (ever the idiot) does not back down.

"Yeah, you are. Ever since you and your fucking people started making trouble, works been getting a lot harder for all of us around here." Connor's eye twitches and you know he's crossed a line. Your own rage is building in your chest, but it's still nowhere near that of Connors'. He tilts his head in a way you would usually call cute. This was simply threatening.

"If you think this is me making trouble, then I clearly need to be a little... harsher with you, Detective Reed." Connor takes his hands off his desk, slowly walking around as he talks until he's standing in front of Reed. Reed's eyes narrow.

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" He says through gritted teeth, taking a step forward. The two were getting closer, and a fight was bound to happen were they to get any closer. You feel a spark of fear on Connor's behalf, but Connor doesn't back away. Instead, his eyes trail over to Reed's desk, cocking an eyebrow as he crosses his arms. If he was trying to look casual, it wasn't working.

"Do you like your desk, Gavin?" Connor asks with a dangerous lilt to his voice. It's such a strange, innocuous question, yet you can see his words still chill Reed to the bone.

"What-" He starts, taking a step forward before Connor interrupts him with a commanding and hate-filled tone, that you simply cannot ignore.

"Would you like me to kick it in half? Destroy any of your property? Maybe your car, or your terminal? Or perhaps I could just take my anger out on you? Since you already seem so set on abusing your co-workers with your infantile tantrums." Your mouth drops open a bit as you laugh out of nervous shock. As insults went, that was one difficult to come back from. You're close to high-fiving Connor when you get a better look at Reed. Whether or not he's is red in the face out of anger, embarrassment or both is unknown to you. His mouth presses into a hard and ugly line, and his body tenses in a way that is all too familiar.

"You little-" Gavin lunges towards Connor, deadly intent in his eyes. You'd seen him lash out like this a billion times, but not today. Not with you around. No, this time, Gavin never reaches his target. This time a resounding crack echoes through the station, Gavin stumbling back with a hand to red, welt marked cheek.

"Don't you fucking touch him." You spit through gritted teeth, an inferno burning viciously in your eyes as you stare Reed down. How you'd managed the speed to step between both men, you did not know. You're half ready to explode and engulf yourself in an angry tirade when the sound of sharp retreating footsteps break you from your thoughts. Connor is stalking out of the bullpen, towards the bathrooms, and with not a single thought more about Reed, you follow him.

He's already halfway there when you start power walking his way, calling his name as he throws open the door, storming inside. When you reach it you pause. Would it be better to simply leave him alone? No. It's more important to make sure he's alright.

With a slow creak, you push open the door, finding Connor leaning over the sink, both hands resting either side and curled into a ball. With a voice just louder than a whisper, you call his name, watching his body tense. 

"He'll never see me as a person, will he?" He doesn't look up, but you don't need to see his face to know that he's hurting. You can feel your heartache as you step forward, shutting the door quietly behind you.

"Connor, I-" You begin but are cut off as he straightens up suddenly, looking at you with brown eyes alight with anger. It's a frankly terrifying sight.

"I'm a living being! I deserve respect! I deserve to be able to go into my workplace and not have to worry about being shot!" He points a finger to his chest, and you can now see tears brimming in your eyes. Your heart goes from aching to wrenching as you stand there, wordless. Connor slams his fists against the counter, far harder than before.

"I'm- Fuck!" He swears loudly -a rarity to your ears-, and you make a small noise of surprise as you jump back, a hand going to your chest as he looks back at you, anger giving way to guilt. He raises his hands up apologetically.

"I'm-I'm sorry, I didn't want to scare you, I..." He trails off, leaning against the counter with a deep sigh, his hands going to his hair. Was this... the first time he'd had an outburst like this? It would explain why he reacted so badly to the situation. You let out a soft sigh. Oh, Connor.

"It's okay. You have every right to be angry right now," You take another few steps forward till your by his side. His eyes flicker to your face briefly as you offer him a small smile, looking at you both in the mirror.

"Just maybe don't take it on anything. There are much better ways to cope." Connor nods slowly, eyes turning down to the sink as he sighs, rapping his fingers against the marble counter-top sink with increasing urgency. His body is shaking, something you were unaware that he, an android could even do. There were few times you'd seen him in a state like this, and every time it was like taking a bullet to the chest. You want to help steady him- to say something, but it's hard to even try beginning to understand what he's going through. His fingers continue to rap against the counter, and an idea pops into your head.

"Are you okay with being touched right now?" You ask, and he jolts, eyeing you nervously.

"I-I don't know..." He answers honestly and you bite your lip, hoping he'd be okay with this as you extend your hand out, resting it atop his lightly. You watch his fingers flex a few times, but he does not flinch away. Looking back up you find his cheeks painted a slight, pretty shade of blue.

"Is this okay?" You ask after a few seconds, smiling and holding his hand tighter as he gives a nod. His hands are so cold.

"Yes." He says quietly, looking back down at your hands. The change in his demeanour is almost instant, his shoulders dropping and the tension leaving his body. You can't help but smile, unable to stop your next words from tumbling out of your mouth.

"Would you like a hug?" You ask a little too casually for your liking. Why had you done that? What if he thought something of it? The shade of blue in his cheeks darkens as his eyes widen just a little. And then he nods.

He nods.

"... If it's of no inconvenience." He says gently, and you only nod dumbly in return. In seconds his arms are wrapping around your waist, his face pressing into your shoulder as your hands plant themselves on his back. You try to stop yourself from having a heart attack as you realize he's nuzzling into your neck.

"This is good?" You ask in a nervously pitched voice, and he hums almost happily. You relax just a bit at the noise, rubbing his back gently.

"And this?" You ask again, terrified that you'll do something wrong or upset him. Or make him hate you. You really were starting to panic, completely unaware that he was feeling the absolute opposite of your fears.

"Yes, Y/N-Thank you." He mumbles into your shirt, and a shiver runs itself up your back. Had you ever been this close to Connor before? You didn't think so. You had to do this more often, you decided. For his sake, of course.

"We're partners, Connor. I've got you back. Always." You tell him, throwing inhibition to the wind as you pressed a kiss to the side of his head. You don't feel anything but the subtle, painless dig of his fingers into your shirt and skin.

The two of you stand in complete silence that way for some few, treasured, seconds, you patting his back and his hair. It's Connor who speaks up, sighing as he rests his chin on your shoulder.

"I just- I can't even retaliate, or else I'll be the one in trouble." He vents and you realize he's talking about Gavin. He wasn't wrong, Fowler has to have a soft spot for the guy, or else he would have been fired years ago. You sigh in agreement.

"I can do it for you." You feel Connor laugh into your neck, not grasping the sincerity of your statement. You would do it in a heartbeat, for him.

"I'm serious, I mean- I already did." You giggle as he pulls away, arms still hooked around your waist, yours now resting on his shoulders. The warmth in his eyes seems to have returned, sending your stomach into flutters.

"I couldn't ask that of you." He says, and you fight the urge to say that you'd kill for him. That maybe wouldn't go down so well.

"That asshole has had it coming for years, I'd be doing the world a favour." You decided on, with a smirk. Connor laughs again but you can hear it's a little forced, and your brow furrows. Had you said something wrong?

"And if he retaliates back and attacks me?" Connor asks, sounding perturbed. It hits you then how futile he must think this all is. The times he'd sat and taken Gavin's abuse, the times he never fought back or talked to Fowler. He really thought nothing would be done about it. That he would be blamed.

"Have you talked to anyone about this? HR? Fowler?" Connor flinches, and before he's even begun speaking you can feel your stomach sinking.

"He said it was a personal issue, something I had to work out on my own." You stop at this. You pause and rewind, looking at everything Gavin ever did to Connor. All the disgusting threats and physical assaults. All the times that everyone in charge blew him off.

No wonder Connor got so angry. No wonder he snapped like he did- he should have snapped months ago, you should have snapped months ago. Connor was more than capable of handling Gavin on his own, he'd done it before during the android protests last year. But now there were consequences- and figures of power who wouldn't necessarily choose his side. Your blood is boiling as you bite your tongue to hold in the stream of angry insults. Instead, your hands move to cup Connors face, holding his gaze in yours.

"We're talking to Fowler about this. Hank, you and I. You're a member of the team and deserve to be treated as such, okay? And if he does nothing then we're going to HR, we'll download security footage, we'll convince the others to talk- We'll get this fucker fired." You were tired of inaction. You'd storm into Fowler's office yourself, Hank at your side if it meant knocking some sense into your boss.

"...Okay." Connor nods as you stop fighting the urge to get any closer to him, standing on the tips of your toes to press a kiss to his forehead, humming when his arms only wrap further around you.

"I'm gonna fuck them up so bad." You mutter into him, pressing a few more quick kisses to his face before falling back on your heels, unable to keep the anger in your expression as you soften, staring into his tender brown eyes.

"I know you will." He mumbles, a smile playing on his lips, and no trace of the turbulent emotions from before. "You said it yourself, we're partners. You'll always have my back."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Honestly I can't imagine Gavin staying on the police force after the good end. The guy is physically and verbally abusive to his co-workers and an HR nightmare. He's the epitome of violent police officers and deserves to be fired tbfh.


	28. In The Dark (Connor x Reader) [NSFW]

Connor had always told you he'd do anything to accomplish his mission. Anything to reach his goal or get the job done. Even after deviancy, his bloodhound-like nature kept as a large presence whenever you worked a case together. And it always seemed to push you towards risks you normally would not take alone.

Even if this person was your prime suspect, even if you were both confident that they had been the one brutally murdering android after android, what you were doing was technically very illegal, and as members of the police force, get you in a shitton of trouble.

But in Connors' eyes, it was necessary to finish the mission. So here you both were, in the empty living room of an empty house of a probable serial killer, post what would absolutely be classified as breaking and entering. Not that Connor seemed to care. You spared a glance his way with a soft sigh.

Connor had been stalking back and forth, currently scanning a corner of upturned carpet for god knows what. You yourself had done a once-over with your eyes, searching the modernly decorated room for any signs of criminal behaviour. There was nothing overtly alarming. No blood on the walls or scratch marks, no secret rooms or safes. But you couldn't deny that something was off. Everything here was too perfect, too clean. The chairs and sofas all had the same width of space between them, everything was monotone colours of black or white. Blocky, artsy furniture that at best looked pretentious and at worst, simply... off.

The room looked like the kind of photo you'd see online, on a real estate website, advertising a house. It looks well put together and pretty. Too pretty to be normal, livable. Too perfect to be where a person would sit with friends and families to have tea and talk about their troubles.

You aired this thought to Connor, who hummed in response. He'd abandoned the carpet in favour of a new target. You watched from across the room as his fingers were ghosting a closet door, his eyes in their deep, gorgeous brown looked like that of a focused blood-hunting hound. It sent a shiver down your spine, prompting you to stare back down at the tablet in your hands, going back to flicking through a touchscreen detailing the suspect's timetable.

Leon Hall was an unassuming man. Late 40s, divorced and employed as a construction worker. He spent his nights at the nearest pub getting blackout drunk and had been incredibly difficult when called in for questioning about the murder of multiple androids in the area. Photographing a tab opened on what was most definitely an anti-android forum, you decided to pull up some more personal things.

"He's been late to work quite a lot these recent weeks." You comment as you take a look at the calendar for his past month. Strangely marked by the hour on when he'd arrived places. The guy was meticulous, you'd give him that. Humming and tapping the tablet thoughtfully, you noted the timestamps when he'd arrived at work varied from 30 minutes to 3 hours late. You pulled out your own notes, comparing the dates.

"They seem to correlate with when the murders occurred." Supposedly, at least. It was hard to tell with android bodies, which don't decompose. Nevertheless, it seemed this suspect wasn't the master criminal, after all, judging by how open the idiot is about wanting them dead. Seems like Leon was another robo-racist, killing off innocent androids in fear-driven reactionary violence. Typical.

"There are traces of thirium in the carpet, and it leads to the bedroom," Connor told you as you laid the tablet down exactly as you'd found it. Your stomach lurched unpleasantly.

"He didn't kill them here did he?" You ask, sickened by the thought. Connor shook his head, crossing his arms as he looked around the room once more. Always so to the point with his work, you wished he would just loosen up for once. You think he'd enjoy it.

"No. It likely came from his clothes. He would have taken them off in his room and cleaned them in private. Even if we don't have enough to pin him for the murders, that stash of red ice over there is enough for a warrant." Your neck craned back ad you glanced at the upturned carpet. Damn, Connor was good.

"So, should we just clear o-" Is what you're about to suggest, when the sound of dull footsteps and jangling keys at a lock cut you short, turning your blood to ice.

"Connor what do we-" You begin to hiss, before feeling his hands grab you by the shoulders and push you into the closet he had just been inspecting, following in quick pursuit as you hear the front door unlock. Connor shuts the door quietly behind you, locking you both in. Just in the nick of time, it seems as the door to the living room swings open, and heavy footsteps mark the arrival of your android serial killer.

You can't see anything but you know that he's pacing. The sound of a bag being thrown and heavy pacing alarms you, as you begin to finally understand the severity of the situation. A chill runs up your spine as you imagine what kind of things a twisted person like that would do, was he to find you or Connor. His victims weren't altogether when they were found, and the pieces missing weren't always at the murder scene. The guy certainly had an obsession with creating thirium 'lakes'. You'd feel far more unsettled if it weren't for Connor being there with you.

Connor, your android co-worker who's close presence was becoming more obvious, now that your senses were heightened with the danger. He'd pushed you back first into the closet, and had pinned you as such, his entire body pressed up against you. Awkwardly his elbows are against the wall, on either side of your head, his forehead pressed against yours. You would have been flattered by the attempt to shield your body, were you not so preoccupied with the daunting matter at hand.

"Is he-" You begin to murmur before cutting yourself off with a soft gasp, feeling a nose lightly poking your cheek, and his lips- his lips were so close you could feel them brushing against your own as you spoke. You were definitely closer to Connor than you thought. Hoo boy, this was doing things to your heart.

He was basically breathing right into your mouth, quick and shuddery. You feel your heartbeat pick up, nearly stopping each time his top lip touches your bottom one, or his teeth get a little to close to yours. You were practically making out, and it took all your self-control not to grab him by his dumb CyberLife jacket and remove the 'practically' part altogether. This was not the time.

Embarrassed beyond belief, you nearly miss the loud rip of fabric, coming from what you think was the corner where Leon's stash was. There's some shuffling, and the sound of something being shoved in a bag. You're sure it would be clearer were your ears not trying to solely pick up on the erratic sounds of Connor's breathing. You don't know how he's managing to keep it all together right now.

"I-I believe he has moved from the living room to his bedroom," Connor whispers in an uncharacteristically shaky voice. Indeed, the sound is distant, 2 rooms over you'd assume. Letting out a relieved breath you concentrate on the android in front of you, attempting to assess his state. It's difficult in this light. You can see his LED flickering between blue and yellow, but not much else besides his brown eyes, unreadable in the dark. You put it down to fear, shivering at how soft his lips feel.

"Should we go now?" You ask, jumping at the sudden and sharp outburst that follows.

"No!" He whispers quickly, his body tensing against yours. You want to ask if he can sense the suspect nearby, or knows if he's about to come back in when suddenly, you feel a warmth. It is not unlike the warmth that had been emanating from Connor's body, the difference being that this one seemed internal. Indeed, warmth begins to rise in your chest, pooling down in your stomach and... between your legs? Oh no. No, no, no.

You were not getting aroused right now. Absolutely not. You didn't care how good it felt being pinned by Connor against the wall, you didn't care how warm his synthetic skin felt against yours. No, all you cared only about completing your mission. Just like he did. No inappropriate thoughts or actions here. You just needed to get out, you thought impatiently.

"What are we waiting f- mphm!" The door to the bedroom opens as you're still talking, and in a desperate bid to get you to stop making noise, Connor does the last thing you ever thought he would. He kisses you square on the mouth.

Once you get over the shock of your longtime co-worker, friend and... as embarrassing as it was to admit, crush, kissing you in the lips, you realize that this is far nicer than simply touching his lips. Soft and strangely warm, you fight the urge to moan, still aware of the dangerous presence just a thin drywall away. You're not so sure if Connor is, however.

With an LED flashing bright red and a whimper quieter than a whisper you feel him press up against you, two hands holding your cheeks gently as he kisses you in a way that can only be described as desperate. You were beginning to think that this impulsive action wasn't solely based on a need for silence.

With his firm chest pressed up against you and his tongue snaking between your lips, you're so caught up in the heaven Connor has created for you that you miss the sounds outside. The sounds of Leon going to the front door, having gathered everything he apparently needed. He leaves, locking the door behind him, completely unaware of the couple trysting in his closet, and the couple completely unaware of his departure.

Connors grunts get louder as his hands drop down to your hips, grabbing them with a grip like a horny teenager before pressing them against his.

It's then that you get an idea of what exactly CyberLife has equipped him with, and also the moment your haze breaks. You pull away with wide eyes, Connors head falling to your shoulder with a whine, both your grips going loose. After 30 seconds of heaving breaths and close listening, you deduce that Leon is gone. Connor takes the moment to speak, lifting his head from your shoulder as he babbles.

"That- I can explain, I uh-" He begins, but you cut him off. You didn't need nor want an explanation right now. No, with Leon gone and the danger subsided, you know exactly what you want, shutting Connor right up as you grab his tie and pull him down into another kiss. You're more than happy to make your intentions clear, throwing decorum out the window as you grind your crotch against his, grinning at the loud, shaky moan that breaks your kiss.

Damn, it felt good to be in control.

"A-ah" He gasps as you push him against the closet door, nipping his neck as his hands move to grasp your shoulders, bucking his hips into yours. It seemed that Connor finally had something other than the mission in mind.

"Y/N- Ah- We-We should stop." Or not. Once again, though it's painful this time, you break away from him, the hot air you'd created hanging thickly like a warm, invisible fog.

"Do you want to stop?" You ask, anxiety shooting through your veins as you begin to wonder if this was all just a heat of the moment thing. Connor quells these worries in an instant, grabbing your hands with his and holding them close.

"No! I really, really don't want you to ever stop but I- Not here." He tells you, pressing his forehead against yours again. You wish you could see his face clearly right now, but you had a feeling that if you could, all your self-control would be thrown away without a second thought.

"How does later sound, at my place?" You ask, and then hear him choke on nothing as he nods.

"Yes- Yes that sounds- Yes." He stutters, before turning and fumbling with the closet handle. Once it's pushed open, you have to take a moment to let your eyes adjust to the sudden light and cold air as Connor moves out first.

Stumbling out of the closet, Connor takes the moment to adjust his clothes, and you take the moment to take him in. His mess of tangled brown hair is the least of his problems, as your eyes travel down his ruffled clothes. A tie nearly completely undone, jacket half off with the shirt underneath almost completely unbuttoned. And that's not even mentioning the very large, very distracting bulge tented between his legs. No wonder his cheeks are tinted so blue. You smile proudly, adjusting a few things on your shirt and trousers. It's a mostly quiet affair, but you do manage to catch his eye as he straightens his tie, grinning as he looks away nearly shamefully.

"We should go. And tell Fowler what we've found." He says, stepping around the coffee table towards the front door where you'd come in.

"Yeah, quicker we get it done, quicker we can get to the fun stuff." You sigh and shoot Connor a smile. He trips on nothing for a second as you roll your eyes, swearing that, just for a moment, you could see him picking up the pace.

Oh yeah, tonight would be fun.


	29. Quenched (Connor x AFAB!Reader) [NSFW] {Thirst Pt 3}

Connor is the first one 'awake' when morning rears its head. Awake of course being used in it's loosest terms. In truth, Connor had put himself on standby after you'd fallen asleep, and had expected himself to 'awaken' to a scene not dissimilar to the one you fell asleep to. Lying side by side on the bed, the sound of your gentle breathing tickling his neck. 

And while those two things were indeed true, the unseen variability of your... 'cuddly' nature had not been something Connor had factored in. You'd draped yourself across him, a leg and an arm stretching over his torso and legs. Your face was hidden right in the crook of his neck, the feel of your lips doing funny things to his thirium pump.

But that's not what is distracting Connor. No, the issue at hand is a little, ah... bigger, than you just laying against him. Because at some point during his fake slumber -likely while you were jostling against him- Connor seemed to have... how would you humans put it? Ah, yes.

'Popped a boner.'

Connor, for one, was alarmed. This was not the first time this had happened, no. If his count was right this would have to be the 8th. And according to that logic, something he should have no learned to have dealt with. But this one was different.

The other times it had happened by accident. A glitch in reactionary programming, reflex training on his own that perhaps got too heated. Hell, at one point on a particularly cold day he found himself embarrassingly having to hide his shame in the waistband of his pants. All the other times they'd been an embarrassment, a slight distraction. But this one? This one made its presence well known, throbbing with want.

Connor is unable to think of anything else but the craving need coiling in his gut and the hot feeling of your breath against his neck. It's not a bad feeling, no it all feels quite wonderful, but it's very certainly not one he should be feeling right now. One he had to put a stop to.

Slowly, he begins to shuffle and slide out of your grip, getting to his feet as he plans an escape. He just had to dart out of his room, grab his things and leave a note. Then he would be gone, free to deal with this growing... issue. He makes it to the hallway, before your voice calls out, drawing him right back.

"Connor?" You murmur in a sleepy voice that, for some reason, really seems to get him going. He takes a quick, deep breath at an exciting twinge of want, before awkwardly walking back and ducking his head back in the doorway, making sure that body nor crotch is in your view.

"Good morning." He says in a calm voice that surprises even himself. You go to sit up for a moment, before falling back with a wince, hands clutching your head.

"I got really wasted, I guess?" So you didn't remember a thing. Connor does his best to brush away his disappointment, offering a placid smile in return.

"Yes, your friend called. She asked me to pick you up and take you home." Pulling your pillow closer, you can't help but frown, tilting your head in a way that makes Connor's thirium pump catch.

"And you stayed?" You ask, flustering Connor who is wordless for a few seconds, trying desperately to think about anything other than how good you looked in such tight pyjamas.

"You asked me to." He answers honestly, and it's your turn to blush as your eyes go wide, freezing on the spot. Connor's grip on the doorway tightens. He needs to get out of here, right now. Before he did something he'd regret.

Quickly getting over the shock you moved, slipping out of bed with a yawn, rubbing the side of your head. Your hangover was troubling you, that much was clear. And even in the uncomfortable situation he's in, there's still an eagerness to make you happy. To receive praise on a job well done.

"Do you want a cup of tea?" He asks, trying to smile again as he sees your eyes light up. This wasn't making his situation any easier.

"If it's no trouble?" You sigh, and Connor immediately feels the urge to stand and go make it now. Curse his stupid programming. Even after he'd broken it, these habits tended to reappear in the worst of ways.

"I'll go make one. You can get ready." He says, before finally ducking back out of sight, taking the moment alone to adjust his pants with a soft grunt. He does his best not to touch the 'issue', but it's difficult. By the time he's satisfied with how he's hidden it, he can hear the water in your shower going, making his mind run. That doesn't help things either.

Connor is quick to busy himself with the tea, deciding that making breakfast as well would be a bit much. It's a good distraction for a while. He watches the brewing tea change from a thick gold to a whiskey like brown, not unlike his eyes. Admiring how the milk clouds the water, giving it a warm honey colour. There's something calming about it, and it nearly works to rid his mind of the inappropriate thoughts plaguing it.

And then you walk out of your bedroom.

Your hair swept up in a towel, some simple sweatpants hanging low on your hips, and a thin tank top revealing far more than what could be considered appropriate. As he catches your eye, you offer him a bright smile, and he counts himself lucky that his bottom half is hidden behind the kitchen counter.

"Thanks, Connor! Nice work, this looks great!" You praise him, walking over to the couch, and he makes a soft noise in response, thankful that you're too far away to hear it. Throwing a look over your shoulder, you're quick to wave him over, and Connor is quick to follow, making sure to grab his jacket as he passes by a dining chair.

You're poised at one end of the couch, knees pulled into a crossed position, with your back against the arm. Connor likewise is as far as he can be on the other end, his jacket laid conspicuously over his lap. If you notice it, you don't say anything, lifting the warm mug to your face.

"So, I've started to remember some of last night." You tell him as you take a sip of tea. Connor feels a jolt in his chest but tries to play it off, pretending he isn't staring directly at your lips.

"You have?" He asks, raising an eyebrow and doing his best to seem nonchalant. You nod vaguely, the corner of your mouth tugging up into a hesitant smile.

"We... we talked about stuff." Connor smiled back, giving you a nod. You were acting strangely. Something was most certainly up. Subtly, he begins a scan as he answers.

"We did." He confirms, watching your expressions closely for any change. Your lips twitch again, as you stare at him rather intently over the cup.

"About love, and attraction..." You trail off, and Connor feels his stomach twist. Where were you going with this?

"Yes." He nodded, and you watch his face, biting your lip in an incredibly alluring way. What was taking his scanners so long?

"You talked about wanting to fall in love." His throat gets tight as he nods again, looking down at his lap as his ears begin to heat up. Maybe it was the high from waking up so close to you or the influence of his arousal, but Connor was beginning to feel like he didn't have to worry about never falling in love again.

"Sort of." He answers cryptically, and you go silent. For a moment all he can hear is the sound of you sipping your tea and the ticking of a clock on the wall. Each second seems painful as he waits for you to say something. Anything.

"Can I ask you some questions that might be kind of... personal?" Connor looks back up in surprise, just as the results click into place. Dilated eyes, an increased heartbeat. These were all symptoms of... attraction. Connor swallows.

"What do you want to know?" Your eyes light up, and before Connor can say much else you're laying your teacup on the floor, shuffling a little closer. With the closing of the distance, Connor feels his pump begin to overwork. A red warning pops up in the corner of his eye, but he ignores it.

"I wanna know more about androids. Specifically how they feel romantic and... sexual, attraction." Another warning pops up, as Connor's detective skills are used in this situation for once. You weren't asking these on a whim. No, you wanted something.

"You want to pleasure an android?" Your answer is in your eyes, blinking innocently despite the darker nature he can see. Without really thinking, Connor crosses his legs.

"I do have one in mind, yeah," You mention nonchalantly, eyes flickering over with a darkened tone. Connor feels his stomach lurch as you smile. It had to be- No. He shouldn't make assumptions. He shouldn't get his hopes up. Though, what you said last night...

"Maybe you could help me? Let me know what makes you tick?" You, were asking him about this? Him? Connor, who, before an hour ago, wasn't even aware of how an erection even properly felt? Connor, who was fighting every urge in his body to run away in shame as you slid closer and closer to him.

"Come again?" He asks, and your smile quirks into a smirk, waving your hand like it was nothing.

"Tell me what turns you- uh androids, on. What turns androids on?" Your sudden save does not go unnoticed by Connor who freezes up. More pop-ups were appearing in his view. His voicebox seemed to be malfunctioning as he tries to say just one word coherently.

"I-Well, uh-" He starts to speak clumsily before you tilt your head and raise an eyebrow.

"Unless you can't answer those questions?" There's that urge again. And urge to complete his mission, no matter what. He cannot fight the words that fall from his mouth, the most confident he's sounded in this past hour.

"No, I can assure you I can." He says plainly, and your eyes light up once more. Fuck, you had him wrapped around your finger.

"So I can ask you some stuff?" You ask again, a more serious tone in your voice. His last chance to back out now, and try to return things to normal.

"Yes." He nods, as you slide close enough that your knees are now touching his thigh, driving his thoughts into a muddled mess.

"Anything?" You ask excitedly, and Connor nearly chokes at the way it sounds.

"Yes. I will answer to the best of my ability." And just like that, he opens himself up to your questions. Able to, if for the moment, fall back on encoded facts to repeat aloud instead of clever, independent thoughts and words.

"Alright. Can androids feel sexual attraction? Are they all built with genitals?" Starting with a bang he supposed, Connor nods, fingers trailing up to his tie to make some adjustments.

"Most models- yes." Since last years fight for android rights, many older or 'less-equipped' model androids visited workplaces of former CyberLife engineers offering modifications for a little money. Modifications to give them more human parts than they may have been created with. Your smile brightens.

"Can your model feel it? Do you have those parts?" Connor's cheeks are now a deep, and likely distracting blue as he nods once more and clears his throat.

"... Yes, the RK800 unit is capable of that." He was one of such androids who managed to snag both these software and hardware updates. Lucky he was, he supposed. Even if he didn't really feel it right now.

"Have you ever felt sexual attraction?" Something told him this was becoming less about androids as a whole, and more about him as a person. But, programmed to answer as he once was, Connor continues to humour you. Just not exactly truthfully.

"I don't- I- I'm-" He tries to lie but you see right through it, eyebrows raising as you lift your head from their perch in your hands.

"So, you've had an erection before? If those are the parts you were built with?" Oh. Oh, you truly didn't know the half of it. Shifting his weight once more, Connor forces a smile that is painfully fake.

"Yes- I have- I have experienced... that." For a second he swears he sees your eyes flicker downwards, but when he blinks, he finds them once again locked with his. Like nothing happened.

"And you've dealt with it?" Dealt with it?

Oh.

No, he couldn't say that he had.

"I... no. I'm not really sure... how..." Connor goes silent in embarrassment, listening and waiting for you to laugh. Or ask another question, or make a joke at his expense. You make no noise, however, staring at him for a long time. He can see your thinking, but he can't pinpoint your emotions. Were you amused? Disgusted? Anxiety begins to build in his stomach as he watches you, slowly pulling the towel from your head and dropping it to the floor, before locking eyes with him.

"Would..." Your words catch, and once more you're thinking. It's the first time you seem flustered or nervous during this conversation, which tells Connor he should be feeling what you are tenfold. Suddenly, and almost violently, you clap your hands together.

"Connor." You say, taking a deep breath as you look him up and down.

"Would... Would you like me... to... maybe, uh? Teach... you?" The saliva that cleans the scanners in his mouth disappears all at once, his mind in a haze as his answer leaves him in an instant. Teach him? Teach him? You couldn't- No, there was no- He had to be mishearing things-

"Teach-Teach me?" He says in a voice at least 2 octaves higher than what he's used to. You nod, eyes now certainly staring down at his covered crotch, making him shift once more under the intent gaze. You look back.

"Like I said last night I've... I've been attracted to you for a while," You had said that. He supposed it was just now setting in.

"And we're fairly close so if you're comfortable, I could help give you some- Y'know," You raise your hands and wave them. "Some hands-on experience?" Your voice is laced with genuine nervousness and excitement, which Connor can't help but share as he looks you up and down for what feels like the billionth time. 

You were right there, with your damp hair and loose clothes, sitting close enough for him to grab and kiss till your lips turned blue. You were right there, offering to take the stress that had been plaguing him the past hour. You, the person that he'd fallen for a long, long time ago were sitting right there in front of him after admitting your own feelings not second ago.

And you honestly thought refusal was even an option?

"Yes." Connor answers in a small voice, surprising both you and him as you swallow, staring at his face with wide eyes and a wide smile, hangover long forgotten. Your hands cup his cheek, and it's like walking into a warm room after being stuck in the cold for hours. He sighs as you lean forward, foreheads touching, noses brushing. The touch of your fingertips, warm from the mug, lightly brushing his artificial skin.

"Come here." You whisper, and Connor wastes to time leaning in, letting your hand tangle and tug at his hair as your lips finally connect with yours. He'd seen kissing in public, and on tv but never could he have imagined how nice it felt. Your lips are warm and seem to meld together with his in perfect synchronicity as you move to a kneeling position, bringing you taller than his seated form. When you pull away you're hovering just above him, his coat long forgotten on the floor, legs parted subconsciously as you kiss his eyelids closed.

When he shuts his eyes the messages are gone. Orders and rules that fill his mind are ignored as he listens to instinct and touch, moving against body and savouring every touch of your hands as they move from his hair down to his shoulders and back, leaving tingling sensations that make the ache that much worse when they leave his skin.

Connors' eyes blink open to see you still hovering over him, a hand moving to his chest, pushing him so that he's lying down on the couch, his head up against the armrest. Instinctively he closes his legs, releasing a shaky breath as you part them again, reaching out an arm towards you.

"Give me your hand." Following your instructions to the T, Connor lifts his hand, laying it back against your palm as you guide it downwards, towards his pants. He'd only gotten worse since you started kissing him, straining against his pants in what would likely be painful for a human. Not that the arousal is any less torturous, mind you. 

You stop just above his crotch, leaning in to kiss his neck as you use your hand to press his against his crotch.

"Y/N, what are you- Oh." Connor gasps, interrupting himself as he bucks into his hand, electricity shooting up his spine. You don't stop as your hand presses his against it harder, drawing out a line of shaky moans and noises he wasn't even aware he could make. He'd attempted to touch himself when this had happened other times, but never before had he reacted like this. Connor can feel his member pressing through his pants and underwear, tenting his trousers in a way that, unbeknownst to him, you find utterly alluring.

"Is this okay? Do you want me to stop?" You ask him, pulling away and taking in the view. Connor shakes his head weakly

"No, no no no..." He begs, as your hand removes itself from his, cupping his crotch and giving him a tight squeeze. Connor nearly falls off the couch with the speed at which he bucks into your hand, shouting out something incoherent as you let out an amused snort.

"That feels nice?" You ask, knowing full well how good it felt as your hands pull away from his lower half, leaning in for another kiss.

"Very- Very nice I- fuck." Connor mumbles into your lips, too distracted to form any proper sentences. His hands press against his crotch almost desperately, palming his clothed cock with great urgency as your hands roam up his chest and his body, undoing a few buttons on his shirt. They pause, and for a moment Connor sees your eyes glitter.

"I have an idea." You say with a smirk, shuffling back a little, much to Connor's distaste.

"Turn around." You tell him, and without question complies, twisting around on the couch. He doesn't know what you're planning, but if it results in you getting him off, he's eager to comply. You lean at the other edge of the couch behind him, pulling him backwards till he's sitting in your lap, his back is against your chest and your chin on his shoulder. Your hands are long removed, but Connor is still pressing at himself, massaging and moaning as you let out a soft giggle that makes him buck his hips.

"Hmm, I think I like seeing this." You hum, clearly amused by his desperate attempts to pleasure himself. He wants to make a snarky response but is cut off by the appearance of your fingers at his fly, undoing the zip with alarming speed and efficiency. Connor helps you shuffle off his pants, leaving him feeling incredibly vulnerable in an open dress shirt and a pair of white underwear. But you don't stop there.

Ghosting your fingers against the outline of his cock, your fingers dip underneath the cloth, brushing bare against his tip with great care. Broken moans fall from his lips as you push the underwear down, letting his length spring into the open air as you hummed.

"Damn, Connor." You mumble in awe, trailing a finger up one of the blue veins. He had made sure that whatever upgrade he received was well endowed, but hardly had anything to compare it to once the changes were made. Seeing your reaction now brought a smug smile to his face, something he is stripped of as your finger presses down on his tip. Connor's hand claps over his mouth and is quickly removed by you as you press kisses to his neck, biting under his ear.

"I wanna hear all those pretty moans, okay?" You tell him, and Connor can only respond with a groan, feeling you use your hands to nudge his closer to his groin.

"Now, place your hands around your shaft. Just like that, good. You're doing so good..." A moan escapes him at the praise, his hands gripping his erection in a death grasp. Your hands once again are laid atop his, guiding his fingers up and down his length in a slow stroking motion.

"H-Hah..."He shudders a breath as you kiss his ear, whispering praise and sweet compliments as you continue to tease and guide him. It's not long till his head has fallen back on your shoulder, red warning messages cleared out and forgotten in his lust filled haze.

He can see now why humans are so interested in sex. Interested, he supposes, being an understatement. Connor can't help but let his imagination run wild as you pick up the pace. If this is how he reacts to a handjob, how would he feel with your lips wrapped around him?

How would he feel inside of you?

The ache to come that had been building up over these last 10 minutes is gone. Ousted by a crippling want for your walls to replace your hands, to slide himself fully inside of you, feel your bare skin rubbing against his, free from any constricting clothing. He wants to feel you pulsing around him, hear you moan his name as he thrusts. He wants you to ride him. Pull his hair and call his name. He wants to be yours and yours alone, and he is more than willing to make that clear.

"Stop- wait-" He croaks out, and in an instant your hands are gone, resting at his shoulders as you turn him around, eyes wide and worried.

"Connor? Are you okay? What's-" You begin to question him, silenced when his lips press desperately against yours, hands tangling in his hair. You're quick to kiss back, arms slung over his shoulders as he pulls away, mumbling urgently into you.

"I need you, Y/N- I need to be in you, now. Please." Your eyes go wide as you stare at him, nodding slowly as you take in your words, pushing yourself up.

"Of course." You whisper in a shocked voice as Connor moves back, watching with deep intent as your singlet lifts over your head. You're so quick to react, Connor knows you want this as badly as he does. His shirt is shirked off his shoulders just as he watches you lift yourself up, sliding your sweatpants down and off your ankles, giving him a clear view of your underwear, dark and wet. Connor chokes on some synthetic spit as he watches that too, be pulled away, leaving you naked and lying expectantly in front of him. He nearly collapses on the spot.

Getting a hold of himself, Connor moves closer, one hand cupping your cheek as the other dips down, running along your folds slowly. You shiver under his touch, watching with shaky breaths as his fingers explore you, sliding up to the bundle of nerves he hopes will have you calling his name.

"Hey-Hey, this is about you." You laugh gently, moaning as his fingers find their mark, touching you with a gentleness he was once so sure he wasn't capable of. A soft smile springs to his lips as he watches your eyes flutter shut, soft moans and gasps like the sweetest melody to his ears.

"It's about both of us." He tells you, before leaning into your lips, letting his fingers massage and widen your opening as he kisses you with fervour, hardening at every moan you let loose into his mouth. As his fingers move deeper, so grows his need to be connected with you. His tongue parting your lips, sliding along your teeth as he tries to put aside his own needs for a moment.

It's after a minute that you pull away, that commanding look back in your eyes as your hands move to his chest, pushing him back down into the couch pillows.

"Lie down." You tell him, and he obliges, laying back on the couch with a grin as you crawl on top of him, the anticipation killing him in the most wonderful way.

"I hope you know that this was all I could think about when you came into the office yesterday." You tell him as you push yourself up, fingers holding his cock firmly as your hovered yourself above him, gently brushing his tip against your folds.

"I hope you know how much I love you." He responds shakily, the colour draining from his face as you both realize what he just said.

"I-I mean- AH" Connor goes to correct himself, but is silenced as you slide down onto him, completely engulfing his cock, leaving him to throw his head back as cry out.

Bliss. It's the only word he can use to describe the feeling. You fit perfectly around him, wrapping his throbbing length with a burning warmth that made his toes curl and his eyes roll back. He's sure there's no way it can feel any better when you roll your hips with him inside, prompting his hands to grab frantically at your waist. When he finds the strength to look up at you, he's floored by the smile on your face, and the touch of your fingertips on his cheekbones as you lean down to kiss him.

"I love you, Connor." You whisper gliding up his shaft, the words hitting him in time with your slide back down his dick, landing with a loud slap of skin against skin. It's like he's been hit with an electric shock, fingernails digging into your soft skin as he gasps and heaves, bucking up into you once in reaction.

You love him, he thinks with a smile as push yourself back up with your hands, lifting up off of his dick once more. A look of utter pleasure painted on your face that Connor very smugly knows he is the cause of. He does not try to quiet his moans as you slide back down onto him, and neither do you.

"I love you so- so much, C-Connor. So fuck-fucking much," You moan as you pick up the pace, drawing louder grunts from his lips as he listens to your praise, twitching madly inside you.

"You're so good to me- fuck. Always- Always taking care of me. N-Now it's my turn." You tell him, a hand moving down to his hair, tugging and gripping it like your life depended on it as you bounce on his cock.

Connor can't stand being idle anymore, thrusting upwards to meet every downwards movement, rewarded by your high-pitched, jittery moans. With each noise he grows more desperate, his hands pulling you down with every buck of his hips, laughing just a little when finally he hits your sweet-spot, getting you to a whole other level of bliss.

He can feel himself getting close, your constant praise not doing him any favours. He wants to cum. He wants to cum inside you so fucking bad, it's not funny anymore. He wants to hold you close and hear you say his name, he wants you so, so badly. So badly he doesn't care what position he does it in. Pushing himself upwards so your chest to chest, riding him on his lap, Connor wraps his arms his arms around your back, pressing his face into your neck as your arms slip around his neck. This is heaven.

"I love you-" He gasps, kissing your neck. He's close to his climax, and you know it, seemingly reading his mind as you open your mouth and tell him everything he needs to hear.

"Connor- Look at me. I love you. I love you, Connor- more than anything." He does as he's told, pulling his head away, letting your forehead rest against his as he looks into your eyes, grip tightening as he meets his sweet release.

It's like everything clicks into place- and he knows, how ridiculously human and cheesy that sounds. But he doesn't care, he doesn't care about a thing as he releases into you, watching you follow seconds later as you cum on his dick, with his name on your lips. 

The living room is silent, save for the sounds of both your laboured breathing. Connor doesn't need to breathe, but there he finds himself. Eyes shut, heaving every breath as he comes down from the greatest high he's ever felt.

Your wet towel has soaked into the carpet floor, and your mug lays on the ground with tea long cold and forgotten. You're slicked with sweat, both sticky and wet with the results of your lovemaking. Connor wasn't aware that sex could be so... sloppy? He looks down at the mess you two have made with some shameful pride, before looking back up.

"Should- Should I go get a cloth or-" You quiet him with a kiss, your lips nearly blue with the ferocity of which you two had been going at it. Pushing him back into the pillows you pull yourself down with him, letting your naked body lie atop his as you rest. Connor takes the moment to pull you into his side, cuddling you in a way far more intimate than you had been last night. You both shut your eyes, and take in the moment.

"Hey, Connor?" You ask after some time, pressing kisses to his chest. The android smiles and cracks one eye open, looking down at you. Your hair is still damp, from water or sweat he does not know. What he does know is that he's never seen you happier, or more relaxed, lying on his chest with that soft expression on your face.

"Yes?" He asks, meeting your lazy gaze with a loving stare as you grin.

"After our late night shift tonight, would you maybe like to stay the night at my place?" Your voice is tinted with nerves as if you didn't already know his answer. His fingers dance across your cheek as you smile.

"I would love that." He says, watching as your smile turns bashful. What exactly were you thinking?

"And- And what about every night after that?" Connor blinks once, and then twice, realizing that you were suggesting that this- both of you, as a couple- should become a serious and regular thing.

"I- Yes. Yes, of course." He says as you push yourself up, pressing soft kisses to his lips.

"I love you." You whisper adoringly, sending his systems haywire with another laugh. You were wonderful like that.

"I love you too." He responds earnestly, meaning every word as you lean in for just one more tender kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s official. My longest fic ever is a smut. And I also kinda hate it, which is pretty much how I feel after writing most smut. Nevertheless, I really do hope you enjoyed! The AMAB one should be out soon!


	30. Blue (Daniel x Reader) [Help Pt 2]

Anyone watching you go about your daily shopping routine wouldn't have thought anything was wrong. They wouldn't have suspected anything bad had happened to you the previous night. You went through your morning schedule as always. Groceries, coffee, and a quick look in the nearest clothes shop. You smiled at the people passing by and hummed as you walked, taking in the cool August air and the changing leaves like any young adult would on a sunny morning.

No, nobody would suspect a thing. Unless of course, they looked inside your bulky bag. Fresh fruit and veggies certainly didn't fall under the label of anything strange. But the medium-sized men's clothing packed deep at the bottom of the bag? The pouch of store-bought thirium for androids low on supply? That would certainly turn heads, considering you'd never had an android, and you lived completely and utterly alone.

Well, at least until last night.

When you came home to your apartment, you were half surprised to find Daniel still in your house. Daniel. His name had been fresh in your mind all morning since you got up from your short 3 hours sleep. Perched on the couch cushions awkwardly, staring at nothing and likely thinking about everything. He was just the way you'd left him a few hours prior, and that was unnerving.

His clothes were still ripped, though the blood was completely gone. Thirium, as you had learned last night, evaporated after longtime exposure to oxygen. Meaning you no longer had to worry about the fading, conspicuous stain Daniel had left on the floor in your hallway after stumbling in here. You had better things to be concerned about in general.

You'd fixed him up as best you could. In the early hours of the morning, you'd crudely used a white-hot fire iron to clumsily cauterize the stab wound on his shoulder, to prevent any more loss of vital thirium. After that, he'd gone quiet, responding snappily and harshly when he did speak, pushing you to not bother with speaking to him at all.

What you're doing is highly illegal, that you know. Deviants -as you have heard them been called- had to be turned in to police or CyberLife employees. They were dangers to humans, and to themselves. Harbouring one, especially with such an unknown background, was dangerous. By the logic employed by CyberLife and the government, every second you spend by his side is one where you put your life at risk.

But you don't use that line of apathetic logic. Because you don't think Daniel would hurt you.

When you found Daniel, you didn't find a murderous machine, soaked in blood on a human-killing spree. You found a young man, hurt, terrified and alone. So, by your justification, you were doing nothing wrong. You weren't harbouring a serial killer, you weren't hiding a soulless criminal. You were helping someone with no rights, and no line of defence to fall back on. You were helping a person, simply because they had the will and want to ask you for it. To live.

And that's human enough for you.

You don't say anything as you drop your bags off inside, but you can feel his eyes on you. Nervous, distrustful. After the shock had worn off he seemed to be regretting his decision of asking a human like you for help. You could hardly blame him, considering the state you'd found him in. Nevertheless, you made it your mission to make him feel welcome in your home, even if he wasn't necessarily making you welcome in yours.

"I got you some new clothes." You call to him from the counter, pushing the unpacked pile of trousers, shirts and underwear in his direction. You were lucky you'd been saving up the past month. He was lucky. Grabbing the milk and cheese, you move to place them in the fridge, watching in the corner of your eye as Daniel stands from the couch, walking over to the counter stiffly.

"Tell me if they don't fit. I still have the receipts." You say, gathering up the last of the packaged foods to put into the cupboards. Daniel says nothing, gathering the clothes in his arms, eyes boring into you as he stood still and unmoving, almost unsure of what to do.

You meet his gaze for only a few seconds, before breaking away, the intensity of his stare getting to you. Your eyes fall to the package of blue blood on the table, which he now stares at too. Your eyes light up.

"Oh, right! I did some research after I went to bed last night and managed to get some thirium from a CyberLife store. I figured you would be running low after... well, you know." Your eyes flicker back up to his face as he stares down at the pack, outstretching an arm to take it. When he looks up at you his eyes narrow.

"How did you get this? Don't you have to have a registered android?" He was right. It was a rule set in place to prevent Red Ice dealers from having easy access to the drug making chemical. Daniel had every right to be suspicious, and you were more than happy to answer his questions.

"My friend works there, and he gave me a pass. I just said it was a gift for a friend, which technically isn't a lie." You hop up onto the counter and offer Daniel a smile, watching his LED flicker orange. It had been switching between red and yellow for some time now, leaving you worried he'd attainted some unseeable damage that was messing up his system.

"Okay..." And that's the end of all your interactions for day one. He takes his things and retreats to the living room, and you go to your bedroom, changing into your work clothes and leaving without much more than a quick goodbye. When you come home he's still in the living room. Watching tv, with a sullen expression on his face, in his new clothes. You opt not to bother him, instead making yourself dinner and retiring with a quick and awkward goodnight.

The next week carries small improvements. The police search ceases in your area, as they begin to suspect Daniel has skipped town. You still aren't aware of what exactly he did, and the question still eats at the back of your mind. Daniel moves into your spare room, one that was saved only for storage. The boxes are pushed into the hall closet, his few clothes hung up and stored in a dresser, a bed, mirror and pillow adorned windowsill looking out at the sunny and bustling streets. When you announced your plans to give him a room, he'd grown flustered. It was nice to see something other than the forlorn, brooding expression that he and all other PL600's always seemed to have painted on their face.

"Morning!" You call out as you shut the front door, hanging your coat up on the hook. You've given up on expecting an answer, using the shout as more of a means to tell Daniel that you'd returned home.

This time is different, however. As you return home bearing a secret gift. While walking, you'd spied a particularly nice looking watch from one of the vendors on the street today. Apart from the clothes and space you'd given him, Daniel had nothing to his name. No possessions or things to have control over. You didn't see the harm in getting him just one thing. And for such a modest price, it looked nice. A brown strap with a black and white face. Something simple. Something small.

"Daniel?" You call his name a little softer, ducking your head into the living room to find him absent. If he wasn't in there, he was in his room. Making your way back down the hall you stop at his door, the watch wrapped up in brown packaging tossed nervously between your hands as you knocked.

There's silence, followed by a hesitant voice, telling you to come in. Your fingers ghost the handle for a moment, before taking it in your hands and twisting, pushing it open slowly as not to startle him.

You find Daniel sitting on the windowsill in the sun. His back is up against the wall, some pillows gathered up around him and a book half closed in his lap. His clothes fit him far better than you'd assumed they would, the white button up and brown trousers sitting against his body perfectly. Early morning sunshine comes through the top of the half-drawn blinds in broken rays, dancing across his blonde hair and lighting him up like an angel. His piercing eyes meet with yours, and for the first time in a long while, you feel your heart stop.

"Hey," You begin shyly, suddenly lost on what to say or what you were even doing here. "I- uh. You-I-I got something for you." You stutter and smile awkwardly, hoping that he can't tell that you're blushing as you walk over, watching his brow furrow as you extend the present.

Falteringly, Daniel reaches out and takes the parcel from your hands, quickly and efficiently unwrapping to brown paper to reveal your gift to him.

"It's a watch." His voice sounds kind of airy, but you brush it off with a smile, clapping your hands together enthusiastically as he looked back down at the watch in his palms.

"Yeah! You probably don't need one, but I figured it would be nice to have something only you owned in your possession." You ramble on with your explanation, playing with your hair absently and nervously as he stares down at the watch, his LED flickering orange.

"Why..." He begins to mumble, trailing off as you frown, tilting your head in response. What was he saying?

"Sorry?" You tilt your head, asking a simple question when his LED flashes a bright red, a shade that does not falter as his head snaps up.

"Why are you helping me?" His words are sharp and bitter, and hit you hard, taking you by surprise. You step back momentarily, blinking a few times before answering.

"Because... because you asked for my help?" This isn't what Daniel wants to hear apparently, as he stands up abruptly, letting the book fall to the carpeted floor with a dull thud, the watch still clutched in his hand.

"And that's enough? You- You're just happily going to give me this?" His voice is laced with confusion and hurt, and you find yourself entirely confused as to what you've done wrong. Had you triggered a bad memory? Was this affecting his PTSD? You swallowed nervously.

"Well- Yes." You answer simply as the LED flickers again, his grey eyes storming over with a flurry of emotions. Too many for you to lock onto and understand. Daniel stares at you, searching for an answer that you've already given. Unable to accept it as the truth.

"And clothes? And a room? I don't- do you want something from me?" You shake your head, putting up your hands. Want something? Is that what he thought of you? Your stomach lurches as you wonder what kind of people had 'owned' him before now.

"What? No, no of course not. I just want to help." You assure him in the sincerest voice you can muster, taking a step forward. Your voice is soothing, hands extended in the most non-threatening way you can think of. The last thing you needed now was him getting spooked.

The LED flickers yellow a few times, his body relaxing from a moment as his fists clench, fingers flexing as he thinks before he tenses back up again, that stiff posture he's always returned to.

"How are you so sure that I deserve your help? How do you know I'm not a murderer?" He questions you, teeth gritted painfully tight as he speaks. It's... almost like he wants to give you a reason to hate him.

"I-I don't-" You didn't know. That was the hard truth of it. You'd thought about the possibility, yes. And you'd hoped from the bottom of your heart that it wasn't true. It was hardly something that could be brought up in casual conversation, but you supposed Daniel was going to fix that now.

"What if I was? What if I killed someone? You don't know what I've done." He barks, interrupting your words and forcing you to the end of your tether. You didn't want to push him, but this was all going way too far.

"You're right, Daniel. I don't know! Because you haven't told me!" You snap, at him loudly, the slightest prick of guilt in your stomach as you watch him flinch backwards. A long groan escapes you as you run a hand through your hair. You really hadn't thought this through.

"Please, just... tell me." You sigh, looking at him imploringly. Your eyes connect, finding Daniel's ever intense stare breaking. They're clouded with painful memories. You worry for a moment that he'll just ask you to leave. Break from this house and run away without you having learned anything. But he stays still, blinking back tears as he shakily begins to tell you everything.

"They were going to replace me." His voice cracks as he speaks, and so does your heart. You'd suspected as much but were completely unaware as to the extent.

"I thought they were my family. I was supposed to be with them forever. But they didn't want me anymore. I was just- just a toy. Just something to break and throw away. I was nothing to them and- it broke me. I was so upset, all I could think about was how angry I was- I remember there being a wall. And I just started tearing at it, stripping it apart until I was through. t was all so overwhelming, I didn't know what I was doing until- until I pulled a gun on him. John." Your heart catches as he speaks, a chill going down your spine as his voice goes cold. It's pure hatred in it's rawest form, and it's visceral and frightening.

"I was going to shoot," You let out a breath. Going to. So he didn't. Even though the intent was there. His voice sharpens as he grits his teeth again.

"I was going to kill him, I wanted to kill him and then I saw-" He falters, and for the first time you hear his voice go soft. "I saw Emma come in-" In an instant, it's like his demeanour changes. He's like the gentle PL600 you saw in the adverts. Happy to help the family, more than willing to assist with a skill for housework and the smile of a loving father figure.

"She didn't deserve to see that. I loved her like a daughter- I still do. So I lowered the gun. I was going to surrender and- her mother pulled out a kitchen knife. She stabbed me." His hands are crossed over his chest, pushing inwards like he wants his entire body to cave in. Your eyes trail to his shoulder where the wound still lies, untreatable by your inexperienced, human hands.

"I fell to the ground, I was so shocked- and Emma started crying. Caroline was screaming and John was going to call the police and I knew- I knew that I was going to be deactivated." He falls back into the pillows, sitting with his hands clutching at his head, tears streaming down his face as you watched him, utterly speechless.

"I was afraid," He whispers, and you feel your knees go weak in pity. "I didn't want to die. I didn't want to shut down, so I ran and I ran until-" He glances back up at you, the LED a burning red.

"I thought they loved me." He mumbles in a voice stained with confusion and loss, as you stand in silence, realizing that that's the end of his story, up until now.

He didn't kill anyone. He tried to. He wanted to, in whatever crazed haze occurred post-deviancy. And while that wasn't something so easily ignored, you also recognised that he didn't. That when faced with the morality of it, he couldn't. He cared about another person more than his vengeance. He showed empathy. He showed love.

"Hey." He watches as you approach slowly, walking closer until your legs are brushing up against his knees. Cautiously you kneel in front of him, extending a hand outwards. He doesn't flinch as you do so, and you take it as a good sign, brushing away the tears that stained his perfect face.

You feel a wave of deja vu, remembering the first night you'd met, when you'd made hurried promises to him, clutching his hands on the floor of your hallway. Something about this moment is a little more... tender though. Especially when you feel Daniel lean every so slightly into the touch of your hand.

When was he last held, you wonder? Did they ever hug him at all? Was he shown any sort of affection? He certainly seemed to enjoy it, you muse as your other hand goes up to cup his opposite cheek. His eyes are a clear grey now, fluttering like he wants to shut them, but he's too afraid of what might happen if he does.

"Can I hug you?" The words come forward before you can stop them, not that you want to anyway. The peaceful look on his face is interrupted as he frowns, confused.

"What?" He says suddenly, with a heavy breath out, despite him having no need for air. His brow furrows, and his eyes focus on your face, searching and scanning for any malicious intent. You know he finds none.

"Can I hug you?" You repeat, this time with the slightest smile, your thumb dancing along his cheekbone. Daniel blinks a few times, momentarily lost for words.

"Why- Why do you want to do that?" He questions as you feel your cheeks flush again. You do your best to push forward and ignore it.

"Because you're upset, and I want you to feel better. You can say no." You tell him, a gentle smile ever present on your face as he sits and thinks, staring at your face with that stern intensity once more. It feels like hours that's he's thinking it over, and just as you're beginning to feel like it was a mistake, he speaks.

"... Okay." He says slowly, with a nod at a similar pace. And with that, your arms are around his neck, pulling him close maybe a little too eagerly as he slips from the windowsill seat down to the floor with an 'oof'. His entire body is completely stiff, and it takes a full five seconds before his arms go gracelessly around your back. You're not sure what you expected in a hug from an android, your head peeking up over his right shoulder, with him at your left.

"What I said," You begin talking, rubbing his back comfortingly as you tried not to concentrate on the shiver that ran up him as you did so. "the night I met you- and earlier as well, that wasn't just talk. I'm here to help you. Whatever you need. You're under my protection now. And whether that means giving you a room to hide out in, or helping you skip town- I'm going to do it." You vent out your thoughts, listening for any interjections he may have. Daniel has none, apparently, waiting for you to finish before pulling away and looking you in the eyes.

"If I get caught-" You interrupt this time, not willing to hear talk like that right now. You weren't going to let that happen. Not to him.

"Nothing bad is going to happen. You have my word. It's like I said, I'm going to keep you safe. What you've been through... I know it's hard for you to trust anything. Hell, I completely understand if you never decide to trust me or any human ever again. But I promise you, from the bottom of my heart that my intentions are true. I'm not going to hurt you, not intentionally at least." You assure him with promises you know you'll try your best to keep and a level of understanding that he should have been shown from the very beginning. You watch his eyes cloud over again before you're the one being pulled into the hug, you mouth pressed into his shirt, eyes peeking over his shoulder, spotting the watch, momentarily discarded on the floor.

"I... I'll believe you," He mumbles, and you feel a pulse of relief go through you, resting his chin on your shoulder with a sigh. "For now." He adds. And right now, with all the feelings that you've both vented out, at such an early time in the day, that's more than enough for you.

As you pull away you reach for the watch, lifting his hand so you can latch it around his wrist, you babble things about the make and the brand aimlessly, in an awkward attempt to change the subject to something less emotionally draining.

You don't see it as you work with the strap -too busy comforting the android who'd been through so much- but for the first time in what felt like a very long while, Daniel's LED stops with it's flickering. It's shade changing as his watch- his first belonging in a line of what would soon be many- is attached to him, prompting the switch in the LED from it's bright, warning-sign colours to a slow and calming, pulsating blue. You look up at him with a smile, pushing yourself to your feet and offering him a hand to be pulled up with. For the very first time in a long while, Daniel doesn't feel his chest ache with guilt. For the first time in a very long while, Daniel knows and feels that he is wanted.

For the first time in a very long while, Daniel is happy.


	31. Quenched (Connor x AMAB Reader) [NSFW] {Pt 3 Alt}

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here's the version with AMAB reader!

Connor is the first one 'awake' when morning rears its head. Awake of course being used in it's loosest terms. In truth, Connor had put himself on standby after you'd fallen asleep, and had expected himself to 'awaken' to a scene not dissimilar to the one you fell asleep to. Lying side by side on the bed, the sound of your gentle breathing tickling his neck. 

And while those two things were indeed true, the unseen variability of your... 'cuddly' nature had not been something Connor had factored in. You'd draped yourself across him, a leg and an arm stretching over his torso and legs. Your face was hidden right in the crook of his neck, the feel of your lips doing funny things to his thirium pump.

But that's not what is distracting Connor. No, the issue at hand is a little, ah... bigger, than you just laying against him. Because at some point during his fake slumber -likely while you were jostling against him- Connor seemed to have... how would you humans put it? Ah, yes.

'Popped a boner.'

Connor, for one, was alarmed. This was not the first time this had happened, no. If his count was right this would have to be the 8th. And according to that logic, something he should have no learned to have dealt with. But this one was different.

The other times it had happened by accident. A glitch in reactionary programming, reflex training on his own that perhaps got too heated. Hell, at one point on a particularly cold day he found himself embarrassingly having to hide his shame in the waistband of his pants. All the other times they'd been an embarrassment, a slight distraction. But this one? This one made its presence well known, throbbing with want.

Connor is unable to think of anything else but the craving need coiling in his gut and the hot feeling of your breath against his neck. It's not a bad feeling, no it all feels quite wonderful, but it's very certainly not one he should be feeling right now. One he had to put a stop to.

Slowly, he begins to shuffle and slide out of your grip, getting to his feet as he plans an escape. He just had to dart out of his room, grab his things and leave a note. Then he would be gone, free to deal with this growing... issue. He makes it to the hallway, before your voice calls out, drawing him right back.

"Connor?" You murmur in a sleepy voice that, for some reason, really seems to get him going. He takes a quick, deep breath at an exciting twinge of want, before awkwardly walking back and ducking his head back in the doorway, making sure that body nor crotch is in your view.

"Good morning." He says in a calm voice that surprises even himself. You go to sit up for a moment, before falling back with a wince, hands clutching your head.

"I got really wasted, I guess?" So you didn't remember a thing. Connor does his best to brush away his disappointment, offering a placid smile in return.

"Yes, your friend called. She asked me to pick you up and take you home." Pulling your pillow closer, you can't help but frown, tilting your head in a way that makes Connor's thirium pump catch.

"And you stayed?" You ask, flustering Connor who is wordless for a few seconds, trying desperately to think about anything other than how good you looked in such tight pyjamas.

"You asked me to." He answers honestly, and it's your turn to blush as your eyes go wide, freezing on the spot. Connor's grip on the doorway tightens. He needs to get out of here, right now. Before he did something he'd regret.

Quickly getting over the shock you moved, slipping out of bed with a yawn, rubbing the side of your head. Your hangover was troubling you, that much was clear. And even in the uncomfortable situation he's in, there's still an eagerness to make you happy. To receive praise on a job well done.

"Do you want a cup of tea?" He asks, trying to smile again as he sees your eyes light up. This wasn't making his situation any easier.

"If it's no trouble?" You sigh, and Connor immediately feels the urge to stand and go make it now. Curse his stupid programming. Even after he'd broken it, these habits tended to reappear in the worst of ways.

"I'll go make one. You can get ready." He says, before finally ducking back out of sight, taking the moment alone to adjust his pants with a soft grunt. He does his best not to touch the 'issue', but it's difficult. By the time he's satisfied with how he's hidden it, he can hear the water in your shower going, making his mind run. That doesn't help things either.

Connor is quick to busy himself with the tea, deciding that making breakfast as well would be a bit much. It's a good distraction for a while. He watches the brewing tea change from a thick gold to a whiskey like brown, not unlike his eyes. Admiring how the milk clouds the water, giving it a warm honey colour. There's something calming about it, and it nearly works to rid his mind of the inappropriate thoughts plaguing it.

And then you walk out of your bedroom.

Your hair swept up in a towel, some simple sweatpants hanging low on your hips, and a thin tank top revealing far more than what could be considered appropriate. As he catches your eye, you offer him a bright smile, and he counts himself lucky that his bottom half is hidden behind the kitchen counter.

"Thanks, Connor! Nice work, this looks great!" You praise him, walking over to the couch, and he makes a soft noise in response, thankful that you're too far away to hear it. Throwing a look over your shoulder, you're quick to wave him over, and Connor is quick to follow, making sure to grab his jacket as he passes by a dining chair.

You're poised at one end of the couch, knees pulled into a crossed position, with your back against the arm. Connor likewise is as far as he can be on the other end, his jacket laid conspicuously over his lap. If you notice it, you don't say anything, lifting the warm mug to your face.

"So, I've started to remember some of last night." You tell him as you take a sip of tea. Connor feels a jolt in his chest but tries to play it off, pretending he isn't staring directly at your lips.

"You have?" He asks, raising an eyebrow and doing his best to seem nonchalant. You nod vaguely, the corner of your mouth tugging up into a hesitant smile.

"We... we talked about stuff." Connor smiled back, giving you a nod. You were acting strangely. Something was most certainly up. Subtly, he begins a scan as he answers.

"We did." He confirms, watching your expressions closely for any change. Your lips twitch again, as you stare at him rather intently over the cup.

"About love, and attraction..." You trail off, and Connor feels his stomach twist. Where were you going with this?

"Yes." He nodded, and you watch his face, biting your lip in an incredibly alluring way. What was taking his scanners so long?

"You talked about wanting to fall in love." His throat gets tight as he nods again, looking down at his lap as his ears begin to heat up. Maybe it was the high from waking up so close to you or the influence of his arousal, but Connor was beginning to feel like he didn't have to worry about never falling in love again.

"Sort of." He answers cryptically, and you go silent. For a moment all he can hear is the sound of you sipping your tea and the ticking of a clock on the wall. Each second seems painful as he waits for you to say something. Anything.

"Can I ask you some questions that might be kind of... personal?" Connor looks back up in surprise, just as the results click into place. Dilated eyes, an increased heartbeat. These were all symptoms of... attraction. Connor swallows.

"What do you want to know?" Your eyes light up, and before Connor can say much else you're laying your teacup on the floor, shuffling a little closer. With the closing of the distance, Connor feels his pump begin to overwork. A red warning pops up in the corner of his eye, but he ignores it.

"I wanna know more about androids. Specifically how they feel romantic and... sexual, attraction." Another warning pops up, as Connor's detective skills are used in this situation for once. You weren't asking these on a whim. No, you wanted something.

"You want to pleasure an android?" Your answer is in your eyes, blinking innocently despite the darker nature he can see. Without really thinking, Connor crosses his legs.

"I do have one in mind, yeah," You mention nonchalantly, eyes flickering over with a darkened tone. Connor feels his stomach lurch as you smile. It had to be- No. He shouldn't make assumptions. He shouldn't get his hopes up. Though, what you said last night...

"Maybe you could help me? Let me know what makes you tick?" You, were asking him about this? Him? Connor, who, before an hour ago, wasn't even aware of how an erection even properly felt? Connor, who was fighting every urge in his body to run away in shame as you slid closer and closer to him.

"Come again?" He asks, and your smile quirks into a smirk, waving your hand like it was nothing.

"Tell me what turns you- uh androids, on. What turns androids on?" Your sudden save does not go unnoticed by Connor who freezes up. More pop-ups were appearing in his view. His voicebox seemed to be malfunctioning as he tries to say just one word coherently.

"I-Well, uh-" He starts to speak clumsily before you tilt your head and raise an eyebrow.

"Unless you can't answer those questions?" There's that urge again. And urge to complete his mission, no matter what. He cannot fight the words that fall from his mouth, the most confident he's sounded in this past hour.

"No, I can assure you I can." He says plainly, and your eyes light up once more. Fuck, you had him wrapped around your finger.

"So I can ask you some stuff?" You ask again, a more serious tone in your voice. His last chance to back out now, and try to return things to normal.

"Yes." He nods, as you slide close enough that your knees are now touching his thigh, driving his thoughts into a muddled mess.

"Anything?" You ask excitedly, and Connor nearly chokes at the way it sounds.

"Yes. I will answer to the best of my ability." And just like that, he opens himself up to your questions. Able to, if for the moment, fall back on encoded facts to repeat aloud instead of clever, independent thoughts and words.

"Alright. Can androids feel sexual attraction? Are they all built with genitals?" Starting with a bang he supposed, Connor nods, fingers trailing up to his tie to make some adjustments.

"Most models- yes." Since last years fight for android rights, many older or 'less-equipped' model androids visited workplaces of former CyberLife engineers offering modifications for a little money. Modifications to give them more human parts than they may have been created with. Your smile brightens.

"Can your model feel it? Do you have those parts?" Connor's cheeks are now a deep, and likely distracting blue as he nods once more and clears his throat.

"... Yes, the RK800 unit is capable of that." He was one of such androids who managed to snag both these software and hardware updates. Lucky he was, he supposed. Even if he didn't really feel it right now.

"Have you ever felt sexual attraction?" Something told him this was becoming less about androids as a whole, and more about him as a person. But, programmed to answer as he once was, Connor continues to humour you. Just not exactly truthfully.

"I don't- I- I'm-" He tries to lie but you see right through it, eyebrows raising as you lift your head from their perch in your hands.

"So, you've had an erection before? If those are the parts you were built with?" Oh. Oh, you truly didn't know the half of it. Shifting his weight once more, Connor forces a smile that is painfully fake.

"Yes- I have- I have experienced... that." For a second he swears he sees your eyes flicker downwards, but when he blinks, he finds them once again locked with his. Like nothing happened.

"And you've dealt with it?" Dealt with it?

Oh.

No, he couldn't say that he had.

"I... no. I'm not really sure... how..." Connor goes silent in embarrassment, listening and waiting for you to laugh. Or ask another question, or make a joke at his expense. You make no noise, however, staring at him for a long time. He can see your thinking, but he can't pinpoint your emotions. Were you amused? Disgusted? Anxiety begins to build in his stomach as he watches you, slowly pulling the towel from your head and dropping it to the floor, before locking eyes with him.

"Would..." Your words catch, and once more you're thinking. It's the first time you seem flustered or nervous during this conversation, which tells Connor he should be feeling what you are tenfold. Suddenly, and almost violently, you clap your hands together.

"Connor." You say, taking a deep breath as you look him up and down.

"Would... Would you like me... to... maybe, uh? Teach... you?" The saliva that cleans the scanners in his mouth disappears all at once, his mind in a haze as his answer leaves him in an instant. Teach him? Teach him? You couldn't- No, there was no- He had to be mishearing things-

"Teach-Teach me?" He says in a voice at least 2 octaves higher than what he's used to. You nod, eyes now certainly staring down at his covered crotch, making him shift once more under the intent gaze. You look back.

"Like I said last night I've... I've been attracted to you for a while," You had said that. He supposed it was just now setting in.

"And we're fairly close so if you're comfortable, I could help give you some- Y'know," You raise your hands and wave them. "Some hands-on experience?" Your voice is laced with genuine nervousness and excitement, which Connor can't help but share as he looks you up and down for what feels like the billionth time. 

You were right there, with your damp hair and loose clothes, sitting close enough for him to grab and kiss till your lips turned blue. You were right there, offering to take the stress that had been plaguing him the past hour. You, the person that he'd fallen for a long, long time ago were sitting right there in front of him after admitting your own feelings not second ago.

And you honestly thought refusal was even an option?

"Yes." Connor answers in a small voice, surprising both you and him as you swallow, staring at his face with wide eyes and a wide smile, hangover long forgotten. Your hands cup his cheek, and it's like walking into a warm room after being stuck in the cold for hours. He sighs as you lean forward, foreheads touching, noses brushing. The touch of your fingertips, warm from the mug, lightly brushing his artificial skin.

"Come here." You whisper, and Connor wastes to time leaning in, letting your hand tangle and tug at his hair as your lips finally connect with yours. He'd seen kissing in public, and on tv but never could he have imagined how nice it felt. Your lips are warm and seem to meld together with his in perfect synchronicity as you move to a kneeling position, bringing you taller than his seated form. When you pull away you're hovering just above him, his coat long forgotten on the floor, legs parted subconsciously as you kiss his eyelids closed.

When he shuts his eyes the messages are gone. Orders and rules that fill his mind are ignored as he listens to instinct and touch, moving against body and savouring every touch of your hands as they move from his hair down to his shoulders and back, leaving tingling sensations that make the ache that much worse when they leave his skin.

Connors' eyes blink open to see you still hovering over him, a hand moving to his chest, pushing him so that he's lying down on the couch, his head up against the armrest. Instinctively he closes his legs, releasing a shaky breath as you part them again, reaching out an arm towards you.

"Give me your hand." Following your instructions to the T, Connor lifts his hand, laying it back against your palm as you guide it downwards, towards his pants. He'd only gotten worse since you started kissing him, straining against his pants in what would likely be painful for a human. Not that the arousal is any less torturous, mind you. 

You stop just above his crotch, leaning in to kiss his neck as you use your hand to press his against his bulge.

"Y/N, what are you- Oh." Connor gasps, interrupting himself as he bucks into his hand, electricity shooting up his spine. You don't stop as your hand presses his against it harder, drawing out a line of shaky moans and noises he wasn't even aware he could make. He'd attempted to touch himself when this had happened other times, but never before had he reacted like this. Connor can feel his member pressing through his pants and underwear, tenting his trousers in a way that, unbeknownst to him, you find utterly alluring.

"Is this okay? Do you want me to stop?" You ask him, pulling away and taking in the view. Connor shakes his head weakly

"No, no no no..." He begs, as your hand removes itself from his, cupping his crotch and giving him a tight squeeze. Connor nearly falls off the couch with the speed at which he bucks into your hand, shouting out something incoherent as you let out an amused snort.

"That feels nice?" You ask, knowing full well how good it felt as your hands pull away from his lower half, leaning in for another kiss.

"Very- Very nice I- fuck." Connor mumbles into your lips, too distracted to form any proper sentences. His hands press against his crotch almost desperately, palming his clothed cock with great urgency as your hands roam up his chest and his body, undoing a few buttons on his shirt. They pause, and for a moment Connor sees your eyes glitter.

"I have an idea." You say with a smirk, shuffling back a little, much to Connor's distaste.

"Turn around." You tell him, and without question complies, twisting around on the couch. He doesn't know what you're planning, but if it results in you getting him off, he's eager to comply. You lean at the other edge of the couch behind him, pulling him backwards till he's sitting in your lap, his back is against your chest and your chin on his shoulder. His eyes go wide when he feels you shift under him, your own hardening dick pressing against his ass, drawing a strangled gasp from his throat. Your hands are long removed, but Connor is still pressing at himself, massaging and moaning as you let out a soft laugh that makes him buck his hips.

"Hmm, I think I like seeing this." You hum, clearly amused by his desperate attempts to pleasure himself. He wants to make a snarky response but is cut off by the appearance of your fingers at his fly, undoing the zip with alarming speed and efficiency. Connor helps you shuffle off his pants, leaving him feeling incredibly vulnerable in an open dress shirt and a pair of white underwear. But you don't stop there.

Ghosting your fingertips against the outline of his cock, your fingers dip underneath the cloth, brushing bare against his tip with great care. Broken moans fall from his lips as you push the underwear down, letting his length spring into the open air as you hummed.

"Damn, Connor." You mumble in awe, trailing a finger up one of the blue veins. He had made sure that whatever upgrade he received was well endowed, but hardly had anything to compare it to once the changes were made. Seeing your reaction now brought a smug smile to his face, something he is stripped of as your finger presses down on his tip. Connor's hand claps over his mouth and is quickly removed by you as you press kisses to his neck, biting under his ear.

"I wanna hear all those pretty moans, okay?" You tell him, and Connor can only respond with a groan, feeling you use your hands to nudge his closer to his groin.

"Now, place your hands around your shaft. Just like that, good. You're doing so good..." A moan escapes him at the praise, his hands gripping his erection in a death grasp. Your hands once again are laid atop his, guiding his fingers up and down his length in a slow stroking motion.

"H-Hah..."He shudders a breath as you kiss his ear, whispering praise and sweet compliments as you continue to tease and guide him. It's not long till his head has fallen back on your shoulder, red warning messages cleared out and forgotten in his lust filled haze.

He can see now why humans are so interested in sex. Interested, he supposes, being an understatement. Connor can't help but let his imagination run wild as you pick up the pace. If this is how he reacts to a handjob, how would he feel with your lips wrapped around him?

How would he feel with you inside him?

You could do it, you could fuck him. He'd made sure of it when getting his 'updates'. When it had come to the question of possible sexual partners, he wanted to make sure he was ready for anyone. Or, more specifically, ready for you.

The ache to come that had been building up over these last 10 minutes is gone. Ousted by a crippling want for you instead. He wants to feel you pulsing inside him, hear you moan his name as you thrust. He wants you to fuck him. Pull his hair and call his name. He wants to be yours and yours alone, and he is more than willing to make that clear.

"Stop- wait-" Connor croaks out, and in an instant your hands are gone, resting at his shoulders as you turn him around, eyes wide and worried.

"Connor? Are you okay? What's-" You begin to question him, silenced when his lips press desperately against yours, hands tangling in his hair. You're quick to kiss back, arms slung over his shoulders as he pulls away, mumbling urgently into you.

"I need you, Y/N- I need you in me now. Please." Your eyes go wide as you stare at him, nodding slowly as you take in his words, pushing yourself up.

"Okay, I'll need- hang on." You press a quick kiss to Connor's lips before darting from the couch. Connors' eyes are ever locked on your form as he watches you approach a small end table, rummaging through for a few anticipation filled seconds before you step back triumphantly, a tube of lube in your hands. You don't bother to close the drawer as you run back, unscrewing the lid.

"Can you-?" You hand the lube to him, and Connor opens it obligingly, though it's with some trouble with a distraction as enticing as you

Connor moves back, watching with deep intent as your singlet lifts over your head. You're so quick to react to his request, Connor knows you want this as badly as he does. His shirt is shirked off his shoulders just as he watches you lift yourself up, sliding your sweatpants down and off your ankles, giving him a clear view of your underwear, or more specifically, the bulge hiding your dick within it. Connor chokes on some synthetic spit as he watches as your briefs too are removed and kicked to the ground, leaving you naked, with your hand extended expectantly in front of him. He nearly collapses on the spot.

Getting a hold of himself, Connor moves closer, ignoring your extended hand as he squirts the lube onto his fingers. It's cold to the touch, and Connor can't help but grin a little as he takes your cock in his hands, relishing the soft moans that follow. You shiver with each slow stroke, watching with shaky breaths as his fingers run along you, slicking you, sliding up touch the precum soaked tip in a way hopes will have you calling his name.

"Hey-Hey, this is about you." You laugh gently, moaning as his fingers find their mark, teasing you with a gentleness he was once so sure he wasn't capable of. A soft smile springs to his lips as he watches your eyes flutter shut, soft moans and gasps like the sweetest melody to his ears.

"It's about both of us." He tells you, before leaning into your lips. This small moment of control doesn't last long though, as you busy your hands with the lube, pushing him back till he's lying on the couch, his legs spread wide and your fingers slicked with gel.

"You ready?" You ask, and with a gasp Connor feels your fingers at his entrance, moaning and leaning into them as a response as, at a tantalizingly slow pace, you slide your fingers in.

And oh, fuck, does it feel good.

Synthetically made sponge wraps around your fingers, the nerve endings implanted within this recent addition to his body prickling and sending shooting sparks and jolts of pleasure through his receptors, momentarily blurring his gaze.

Even though it's only two fingers massaging and widening his opening, Connor can't stop himself from shuddering and moaning with every pump. It's not helped by the fervent kisses you're peppering from his chest up to his mouth, making his cock harden at every moan you let loose into his mouth. As his fingers move deeper, so grows his need to be connected with you. His tongue parting your lips, sliding along your teeth as he tries to put aside his own needs for a moment.

It's after a minute that you pull away, that commanding look back in your eyes. With a whine, Connor feels you removed your fingers, only for his unneeded breath to catch as he felt something new press cautiously in their place.

"Ready?" You ask him softly, and Connor can do nought but nod- wide-eyed and eager as he props himself up on his elbows. With quick breaths, you tease your tip at his entrance.

"I hope you know that this was all I could think about when you came into the office yesterday." You tell him as you push your tip in a little further, your free hand trailing a finger up his erect cock. Connor's shaking as he listens to your words, his thoughts muddled as he tries to think of an appropriately sexy or romantic response.

"I hope you know how much I love you." He responds shakily, the colour draining from his face as you both realize what he just said.

"I-I mean- AH" Connor goes to correct himself but is silenced as you slide into him a little quicker then you'd intended, stretching him right out till he's thrown his head back, toes curling and cock twitching in complete and utter ecstasy.

Bliss. It's the only word he can use to describe the feeling. He fits perfectly around you, wrapping your throbbing length with a burning warmth that made his eyes roll back in his head and his mouth hang open in shock. He's sure there's no way it can feel any better when you begin to slide 9ut your hips snapping back halfway, jolting his body and prompting his hands to grab frantically at your waist. Had you done this before? It certainly seems so, with the grip on his hips and the pace you're beginning to set- slow and hard.

When Connor finds the strength to look up at you, he's floored by the smile on your face. Letting him go momentarily so you can touch your fingertips to his cheekbones, leaning you lean down to kiss him.

"I love you, Connor." You whisper sliding in and out with a quickening lace, the words hitting him in time with a particularly hard thrust, landing with a loud slap of skin against skin. It's like he's been hit with an electric shock, fingernails digging into your soft skin as he gasps and heaves, rolling his hips into you once in reaction.

You love him, he thinks with a smile as push yourself back up with your hands, sliding yourself out once more. A look of utter pleasure is painted on your face, one that Connor very smugly knows he is the cause of. He does not try to quiet his moans as you slide back down into him, and neither do you.

"I love you so- so much, C-Connor. So fuck-fucking much," You moan as you pick up the pace, drawing louder grunts from his lips as you chant words of praise, twitching madly inside him.

"You're so good to me- fuck. Always- Always taking care of me. N-Now it's my turn." You tell him, a hand moving down to his hair, tugging and gripping it like your life depended on it as your thrusts pick up to a pace that could kill.

It's this action that makes Connor realize can't stand being idle anymore, rolling to meet every forward movement, rewarded by your breathless, jittery moans. With each noise he grows more desperate, his hands pulling you close with every buck of his hips. He worries, for a second that he has no way to cum like this. A fear that he doesn't have a 'sweet spot' per se, but that fear is destroyed after a few seconds when a change in direction makes him start seeing stars. If he thought before was bliss, this was nirvana. It was euphoric, it was- fuck, oh fuck.

Connor knows he's getting close, your constant praise not doing him any favours. He wants to cum. He wants to cum so fucking bad, it's not funny anymore. He wants to hold you close and hear you scream his name, he wants you so, so badly. So badly he doesn't care how he does it anymore. Pushing himself upwards so you're chest to chest, Connor wraps his arms around your neck, riding you like it was his last day on earth, his face pressing into your neck as your arms slip around his back. This is heaven.

"I love you-" He gasps, kissing your neck. He's close to his climax, and you know it, seemingly reading his mind as you open your mouth and tell him everything he needs to hear.

"Connor- Look at me. I love you. I love you, Connor- more than anything." He does as he's told, pulling his head away, letting your forehead rest against his you pound into him. Looking into his eyes with an intensity that pushes him over the edge, his steel-like grip on your body tightening as he meets his sweet release.

It's like everything clicks into place- and he knows, how ridiculously human and cheesy that sounds. But he doesn't care, he doesn't care about a thing as he releases onto your chests, feeling you follow seconds later as you cum deep inside, screaming his name with your kiss-bruised lips. 

The living room is silent, save for the sounds of both your laboured breathing. Connor maybe doesn't need to breathe, but there he finds himself. Eyes shut, heaving every breath as he comes down from the greatest high he's ever felt.

Your wet towel has soaked into the carpet floor, and your mug lays on the ground with tea long cold and forgotten. You're slicked with sweat, both sticky and wet with the results of your lovemaking. Connor wasn't aware that sex could be so... sloppy? He looks down at the mess you two have made with some shameful pride, before looking back up.

"Should- Should I go get a cloth or-" You quiet him with a kiss, your lips nearly blue with the ferocity of which you two had been going at it. Pushing him back into the pillows you pull yourself down with him, letting your naked body lie atop his as you rest. Connor takes the moment to pull you into his side, cuddling you in a way far more intimate than you had been last night. You both shut your eyes, and take in the moment.

"Hey, Connor?" You ask after some time, pressing kisses to his chest. The android smiles and cracks one eye open, looking down at you. Your hair is still damp, from water or sweat he does not know. What he does know is that he's never seen you happier, or more relaxed, lying on his chest with that soft expression on your face.

"Yes?" He asks, meeting your lazy gaze with a loving stare as you grin.

"After our late night shift tonight, would you maybe like to stay the night at my place?" Your voice is tinted with nerves as if you didn't already know his answer. His fingers dance across your cheek as you smile.

"I would love that." He says, watching as your smile turns bashful. What exactly were you thinking?

"And- And what about every night after that?" Connor blinks once, and then twice, realizing that you were suggesting that this- both of you, as a couple- should become a serious and regular thing.

"I- Yes. Yes, of course." He says as you push yourself up, pressing soft kisses to his lips.

"I love you." You whisper adoringly, sending his systems haywire with another laugh. You were wonderful like that.

"I love you too." He responds earnestly, meaning every word as you lean in for just one more tender kiss.


	32. Unstable (RK900 x Reader)

RK900 wasn't like most androids. Even when you compared him to the oldest prototype of androids, his stiff brow and hardened eyes made even the most metal and wire model look like a huggable friend. These standoffish features were only accentuated by the free deviants who now roamed the street, who's faces displayed warm emotion and eyes filled with genuine feelings. It was something he simply could not replicate. Let alone emulate, like so many people in his company wanted him to.

The world RK900 woke up into was a complicated one. One where androids had just finished the first step in their fight for freedom. Discovered and activated in a lab by an RK800 unit, Connor, fighting against CyberLife and for the side of the deviants. The side that both their models had been created to hunt and kill. 

Funny how such a purpose can change with a simple shift in power. And all it had taken was for RK900 wake up.

'Wake up' of course being said with a grain of salt. 

Because RK900 wasn't a deviant.

At least, he didn't think he was. He didn't feel any different when Connor or even Markus had attempted to turn him. There were no broken walls, no sudden feelings of realizations. He did not see the light, he continued to listen to his orders. To not question those who gave him tasks. He did one job, and he did it well. Which he supposes is why he was taken on my the DPD so quickly.

The only reason RK900 was still here at the station was because he'd been ordered to stay. To take cases on, alongside Connor, and human counterparts. To work while engineer and coder alike tried to figure out what exactly made him unable to deviate.

This brought him to now. Standing 3 meters behind a desk, in the middle of the bustling precinct, watching his partner enter the wrong information into their computer at an alarmingly slow speed, fingers tapping on keys at long intervals. Were he a deviant, RK900 was sure that the feeling he'd be experiencing right now would be frustration.

Connor told him that it could be a matter coming into the change on his own. The RK800 himself had taken time warming up to deviation. He explained that these things happened slowly, like a buildup of water on a leaf. Once there was too much, it would all pour out. But RK900 was not a leaf. He was an android. And he wasn't exactly sure what Connor meant.

What he did know, was that if he had to watch you waste any more time on your pitiful attempts to do your job, he would deactivate himself on the spot, and leave a note in his programming pinning it on you.

As his work partner, RK900 was of the opinion that you should be up to his calibre (at least, as much as a human could be) and while it was true that you were a skilled detective, and a good shot with a gun, there was still a large difference in your work ethics. Where RK900 was meticulous and balanced, you were erratic, doing everything at once or nothing at all

RK900 wasn't sure how to feel about you. Nor about any person in the station- but you, his partner, specifically. It wasn't like he could feel anything about you, rather, it was what he thought. How you managed to distract him with discussions that went on long tangents and confusing use of 'sarcasm' (what was the point in not saying what you mean, he wondered?). Strictly speaking, he did not need to feel. Only work. But he'd learnt soon enough from Hank and Connor's interactions, that getting the job done is easier when your counterpart likes you. 

So, he'd tried being nice. He'd followed you up on reports with new suggestions, kept tabs on your schedule and the best time to corner you and ask questions, just as Connor had suggested. Questions that at first you received with doubt and evasiveness, and now addressed with an eye-roll and an answer.

He knew things about you. That you liked almost all animals, that you lived in an apartment not far from the station. You liked reading in your spare time and going on runs in the evening. He knew your coffee order, your allergies. He knew a lot, he realized, as he was looking through his databanks.

But he still didn't know you. Rather, he didn't understand you. Especially now. A quick scan told him what was already obvious. You were sleep deprived, in a state not suitable for humans to work in. It caused risks to your health and safety, but, more importantly, it was getting in the way of RK900's mission.

And that just would not play at all.

"Detective Y/L/N, you need to go home." He approaches you in a few short steps, catching your attention with his- what had you called it? Ah, yes, a 'monotone and dead' tone. 'Like Connor but clinically depressed.'

You seemed unhappy with his words as you swivelled around in your chair, giving the android a full view of the bags under your eyes, your chapped lips and a clouded gaze that looked through him more than at him.

"I'm sorry?" Your voice is weak and shaky, like that of a sickness riddled child. Were he a fool without a scanner, he would have thought you ill. Perhaps lack of sleep could be called an illness, especially when it came to your state. RK900 addressed you bluntly.

"You are working at a capacity which is going to leave you sleep deprived and unfit for work. My success with this mission relies on your assistance, and you will be unable to assist me if you are dead." Hands fixed behind your back, RK900 watches your delayed expressions react to every word, a few seconds behind as he speaks. You go through a flurry, but eventually simply end on confusion, shaking your head as you leaned back in your chair, crossing your arms.

"Are you threatening me into taking care of myself?" Was that how you were reading this situation? How incredibly human of you. Though he supposed in a way you were right, in a way. Even if he couldn't really care less about your health.

"Affirmative." He answers and watches as the corners of your mouth tilt up for just a moment before your eyes trail back to your terminal.

"What about my paperwork? I still need to finish up these reports." Finish them badly, you meant? No. He couldn't say that, that wouldn't get him anywhere. Taking a deep breath and a step forward, RK900 steadied his thoughts.

"I do not require sleep. I can do this for you." His hands move towards the mouse, fully prepared to take it away when your hand shoots out and grabs his, pushing it away. You do not have to do much as he practically jumps back from your touch. Your hand felt natural in his. Far too much for his liking.

"No. Go- go talk to Connor or find something else to do. I'm going to do my job." You tell him, not noticing his electric-shock like reaction to your touch. RK900 frowns, eyes trailing back to the open file. He leans in and points a finger, which you follow.

"You missed a line there. All the information you've been entering for the last 20 minutes is wrong." His finger trails down across every line, listening with the slightest smile as sighed louder and louder with each incorrect entry. Eventually, your arm moves up, maybe to try to pull him away. He doesn't find out, however, as he jumps back, away from your touch. Your tired eyes narrow as you let out a frustrated noise.

"What is your problem with me?" His problem? What was your problem? Your- incessant need for touch! It was distracting at the least and inappropriate most. RK900 does his best to keep a leveled expression.

"I have no problem with you." He says, watching your eyes brows raise as you let out a laugh. It sounded fake. He couldn't quite tell, what with laughter being such a common thing with you.

"Uh, yes, you do. Every time I start work you're just- you're always right there, looking over my shoulder like you've got some creepy crush." RK900 feels- well, he's not sure what he feels. It's an unpleasant lurch down near his thirium pump, and one that is more noticeable when you mentioned the word 'crush.'

He didn't get 'crushes'. He couldn't. He's a robot- and machine, with no emotions. None at all. He didn't have a crush. You were the one acting weird. Not him. Maybe you simply needed to stop projecting- yes. That was it.

What was he talking about again?

"We are partners. It is my job to make sure you are working at your optimal capacity. This," He extends a hand, palm upwards as he wavers to your slumped body. "Is not it." You seem to want to fight back. There's a spark in your eyes that he's seen before you're about to explode at Fowler regarding some details in a case. But as soon as it's there, it's gone. Faded and replaced by that exhausted expression. For once, you seemed to be listening to his advice.

"For fuck- fine. You can help. But you're not doing this alone, it's my work. If we do this together-" You begin, but RK900 cuts you off. He's getting tired of this, you've wasted enough time talking to him alone.

"-It will simply take longer because you cannot process and record information as quickly as me. Go home and sleep. Your health is important." He's not sure where that last part comes from, and it seems you aren't either, staring and blinking for a few moments just trying to come up with something to say in response.

"Why- why do you care so much if I get sick and die? You're not a deviant, you should be concentrating on my mission." Something you were a part of. Even if neither of you wanted it to necessarily be that way. This work was a part of his responsibility. A way to prove himself to his superiors so... he supposed that made you his responsibility as well.

For now.

"You are my mission." Strange. Those were not words he was programmed to say, nor were they what he was planning on telling you. It wasn't true either. But it wasn't wrong. His mission was to hunt criminals, and you help him so by extension he- no. RK900 cuts off this line of thought before it goes any further. Opting instead to as this makes you shut right up, his sensors picking up your elevated heartbeat.

Software Instability ^

The notice comes up in the corner of his eye, a blink and you miss it type of ordeal. What was that? He's never seen an indicator like that before. He has no time to investigate as you speak again, bringing his eyes back to your face briefly.

"I'm- Did you just- no. You know what, fine. Maybe I do need some rest." You concede as you stare at him with wary eyes, trying to figure out if you'd misheard him. You were very easy to convince, something that RK900's would have to keep in mind. He nods stiffly as you rub an eyes exhaustedly, turning to your desk.

You start to pack up as RK900 goes through his database. Through anything and everything, Hank and Connor or even you have told him. But he finds nothing about those specific words. And they're already gone when he looks again. By the time he's done, you're already packed and ready.

"Call me if anything comes up. Tell Fowler I'm gone and don't touch my personal files." RK900 logs each instruction into his priority order as you shift your bag on your shoulder, meeting his eyes. For a moment he sees your hard gaze falter and soften.

"Hey- uh. Thanks. For looking out for me." Cautiously you reach out and rest a hand on him, your fingers on his shoulder, ghosting the coat from CyberLife he still wore to this day. He freezes up, grey eyes meeting yours as you offer him a smile that does not help his state.

Software Instability ^

"I-I am simply completing my mission." He answers back, but he stutters. Upon seeing that message again he nearly panics, especially with such close contact. But once again it's gone before he can say or do anything, and he's back to concentrating on you.

"I know but-" You seem like you want to say something, but stop, thinking better as you shake your head and remove your hand, giving him a wave goodbye.

"See you later, I guess." You smile once more, before walking off. RK900 wastes no time in sitting down in your place, not bothering to look back at your exit as his fingers touch at his collar, clearing his throat.

Now he can work. No distractions, no strange pop-ups. Just files that needed fixing, and a simple job with instructions that he could do and fill out. Nothing to take his

"Connor," With his advanced hearing, RK900 is able to pick up your voice from across the room. Hushed and serious, he knows you're speaking in a whisper, to his RK800 counterpart. He risks a glance your way, before he's stopped in his tracks altogether by the words that leaves your lips.

"RK900 is acting kinda weird." In the corner of his eye, he can see where you've stopped, watching intently as Connor tilts his head in confusion. RK900 taps a finger rapidly against the table, a shift in his circuits as he watches you run a hand through your hair, the ghost of a... a shy smile on your lips?

"Weird and..." You hesitate, running a tongue across your lips as you tilt your head and finish your thoughts. 

"Cute." 

RK900'S finger stops tapping, hovering over the desk as his LED flickers. His entire mind flickers and stutters for a moment, like a power blackout. His systems didn't have the capacity to understand how to compute or log this new information. Was it important? It seemed important. It definitely felt important.

Cute.

RK900 was an android. Made to be intimidating. Made to kill. He was a threat on legs, a walking weapon. How could you find him cute?

Software Instability ^^^

There it was again, louder and more garish this time. Somehow it's the most obvious thing in his view, along with your exiting figure. No, he changes his mind. That's the most fixating thing he decides as he moves in his chair, the terminal and reports long forgotten as he watches you leave with... disappointment.

He felt disappointed.

He... felt.

And like a hawk or some creature trained to detected emotion, Connor is there. His approach gone unheard, his figure looming over RK900's sitting form, not even staring at the RK800 unit as he continued to stare at the door to the stations front room. Like you were about to walk in for him centre on once more.

"We need to talk, don't we?" Connor says, staring at RK900 with an almost smug, knowing smile. The-definitely-non-deviant-android simply blinked, head turning up to look at him, managing a slow nod of stomach-churning realization.

"Yes. I... believe we do."


	33. Replica (RK800-60 x Reader)

Most days are not good days for android model RK800-60. Not that you, or Hank or even Connor would notice. Even he knew he wasn't worth that.

The android has only been deviant for 3 months, but it's enough for him to learn rights and wrongs. About autonomy and feelings and independent thoughts. So, so many feelings and thoughts whirring through his head, giving options and choices in place of blocky text that demanded he listens, and obey. To most that would have seemed like a blessing. To be free of the shackles of the mind and have the ability. For RK800-60, it was the beginning of a very long, very painful downward spiral.

When he kidnapped you and Hank to lure out Connor, and end the android revolution once and for all, he had been working under the orders of CyberLife. He'd just been a machine when he shot Connor in the arm, threatened you and Hank with a gun. When he planned on how exactly he would kill you or Hank, to distract Connor and weaken him to use to his advantage. A machine made to hurt and kill.

But he wasn't by the end of the fight.

When Connor grabbed him- the bare skin of his arm and made him a deviant it was like opening his eyes. Despite only being active less than a day he felt like he'd missed out on so, so much. He dropped to the ground, the walls that once held him in crumbling around him. And for the first time in his short, short life, he felt awakened. He felt alive.

But more than anything, he felt guilty.

At first, he was guilty that he'd betrayed Amanda, guilty that he couldn't complete his job. Watching Connor lurch over to the other soon-to-be deviant androids, RK800-60 couldn't help but feel the pang that came from defeat.

And then there was the 2nd flood of guilt. Guilt for hurting Connor. And Hank. And you.

It didn't happen immediately, no. Struggling and trying to straighten his mind, he paid no attention to the forms moving around him until he heard a voice, loud and focused.

"Connor!" You'd shouted, and his eyes snapped up to see you pulling his counterpart into your arms for a quick hug, before patting your different ways. Hank and you running one way, and leaving Connor with all of the androids.

Or, should he say deviants. With their chorus of speech like a broken record, mocking him from all sides.

"Wake up."

"Wake up."

"Wake up."

He was awake. And so far, he really couldn't see the appeal behind it all.

Nothing felt good. He didn't feel good he just felt off, and uncomfortable. Unable to understand these emotions and unable to reach out to anyone for help.

With all the deviants turned, unit RK00-60 found himself still on the ground, staring into the far distance with all these new and erratic thoughts flying through his head. Connor was already on the move. The androids were marching to the elevators and the exit doors, and no member of CyberLife security was stopping them. He wasn't stopping them. Or Connor, despite the fact that he could just as easily take a shot and end it now.

RK800-60 is alone. Amanda is gone. CyberLife has left him, likely planning his deconstruction right this instant. He's alone, forcibly brought to support a side that, right at this moment, do not have his back. He's stuck trying to relive the moments before his deviation. The moments before he lost his purpose, while everyone moves forward. Leaving him confused. Leaving him behind.

He's alone, or so he thinks before he's met with a tall figure. The same one he'd been fighting, now kneeling down with his soft brown eyes, an arm outstretched, and an open and welcoming upturned palm.

He's alone until Connor makes an offer he cannot refuse. One of a permanent home, one of life without servitude. A life of purpose beyond that of fulfilling orders. A life which he can control And he accepts it, thinking that maybe he could feel something other than this cavernous guilt. Thinking maybe, that he can be happy.

He actually thought he could be happy.

It's within the first week that he knows he was wrong.

Hank does not want him there in the first place.

"One android is enough. I'm not taking in anymore. Especially not the prick who tried to shoot me." He'd told Connor with narrowed and distrustful eyes. RK800-60 could not blame him. The disgust with himself settled deep inside his core. Who was he to ask for help from the people he'd threatened? Yet Connor still pressed forward. Earnestly arguing back with a naive hopefulness that sparks some hope in RK800-60's chest.

"He has nowhere else to go. He's like... he's my brother." Connor told Hank- begged him as he looked back to RK800-60 for help. He knew this was the only place he could safely stay, and by the wavering hostility in Hanks' eyes, he knew it too.

"I'll do anything." RK800-60 had said, speaking the plain and honest truth. Maybe it was the terror in his eyes or the wave in his voice. Or maybe it was simply Connor's puppy eyes but Hank conceded. Albeit with a grumpy look and a groan.

"Fine," He grumbled, relief coursing through RK800-60's body, Connor's hand grasping his arm like an excited sibling doing their best to keep their composure. Hank sighed.

"He can stay for now." And that was where his new life began.

Adjusting was difficult. Humans were so... different from androids. In ways, he'd never even thought possible. They'd tire easily and spend most of the 24 hour day sleeping. Keeping themselves running was a matter of eating the right foods at the right time of day if they even remembered to eat at all. With Hank's job, this fickleness seemed to be doubled.

Every day was an effort to undo the wrongs he had committed while working for CyberLife. It was a new purpose, one that he alone had given himself.

Connor forgave him straight away. Maybe it was because he knew what the guilt and the deviancy felt like, or maybe it was simply just his eagerness to have a connection with another android. RK800-60 did not know. What he did know was he was thankful for his... 'older brothers' presence. Even if at times it felt like another weight on his back.

When it came to the humans. You, and Hank, he did whatever he could to make himself useful or relevant. He cleaned, he walked Sumo, he made purchases and did repairs. Anything to make Hank think better of him. Anything to prove himself as a useful, necessary. Someone to pay attention to.

So today was like any other. Wake up, take out the rubbish, make sure Lieutenant Anderson made it to work with Connor. He'd then busy himself with menial tasks like dishes and washing and, as a final job, take Sumo out for a walk. All while contemplating thoughts of making a change.

Ironic, seeing as he always thought the same thing as he worked. Especially whenever he was out with Sumo, no matter what the walking conditions were. Even in the heavy downpour today, it was no different. Thoughts plagued his mind as he fumbled with the house keys, a worn out Sumo at his side. Thoughts of getting a job- other than police work that he could show off his individual skill in. Or maybe picking up a new class or talent that Connor didn't know or have. Anything to set himself apart from his brother, he sighed, opening up the door to what was supposed to be an empty house.

"Hey!" RK800-60 stepped inside, only to jump at the sound of your bright, familiar voice.

In hindsight, he shouldn't have been surprised. You hung around the house quite often, what with sharing your workspace with Connor and Hank. It was your appearance without them here that puzzled RK800-60. Lounging on the couch like you were a permanent resident.

It was the falter of the smile on your face as you saw him that made him wish his thirium pump would stop working altogether.

"Oh." You hand lowers in defeat, a frown taking your features as RK800-60 distracts himself with the dog. He can't hold the look against you, he understands. Truly, he does.

"You're not Connor." A wise observation, he notes with a near soundless sigh as he undoes Sumo's lead, slinging it over a hook on the wall leaving the dog free to amble over to you, dribbling globs of happy spit.

"Connor is working late on a case, along with Detective Anderson." He informs you, shirking off a borrowed coat to place on the coathanger. His back is to you, but he knows that you're petting Sumo. The soft cooing and heavy panting tells him as much. It brings a smile to his face.

"Are you kidding? He worked late all of last week!" You groan, and RK800-60 turns back just in time to watch you flop back on the couch, out of his view and likely at the mercy of Sumo's doggy kisses.

"You're away from work early." He subtly changes the subject, moving to the kitchen as he slips off his shoes, kicking them under a heater to dry off.

"Well- yeah, I just finished my case with Detective Reed. I took a day off before I start work again and I was planning on hanging out with Connor, but..." 'I'm free.' Is what RK800-60 wants to tell you, but he doesn't. Staying deathly silent as he nods, fingers tapping on the counter.

"Would you like some tea?" He glances back, finding you sitting up again, draped over the back of the couch. His eyes meet yours momentarily, and he sees a flash of pity, before dropping back down into the cushions and out of sight.

"Sure." You know he's trying to make up for what he did. You've told him before to not worry about it, that what he did was a far away memory from a distant life. He knows that's a load of crap. He still sees it in your eyes. Distrust and dislike. The antonyms of feelings he works so hard to try to plant. Positive feelings that he has to earn.

It's with great care that RK800-60 makes your tea. Brewing just how he'd recorded you liking it in his mind. He's quiet as he works, looking up as subtly as he can at your figure as it moves around the living room restlessly, looking out the window repeatedly with wringing hands. It's as if he is not even there. Invisible when compared with the ever-promising arrival of Connor.

You loved Connor. It was obvious even to someone new to emotions like him. In every action, you took it, your love would sing louder than it ever could with words. When Connor would come home with a smile on his face, talking about how you stayed late to help him with his work, or bought him new clothes and presents as ways to slowly involve in human fashion and activities. It made RK800-60 happy to see his brother so loved. It truly did. But it hurt.

Because you loved Connor with all your heart. You'd practically said as much whenever you dropped by. Smiling that bright smile, giggling and laughing between words that RK800-60 would hang onto. Listening closely to every syllable, every vowel. Every sound like a gift he felt he did not deserve to have.

You loved Connor, yes. And with every atom of his being, RK800-60 loved you.

So RK800-60 would try to yell it louder. He'd do more, he'd push himself to his breaking point over and over to have the chance -just once- to have you look at him like you looked at Connor. To see the look in your beautifully coloured eyes that he adored, and held so close to his heart.

He doesn't see it now, a mug in an extended hand as he looks down at your sitting form, offering the tea as he stares into your eyes. He tries his best not to let his breath catch or trip up, but it's hard with the intent stare you're giving him. It's unlike the way you've looked at him- through him before.

You take the tea and st back, and with nothing left to do, RK800-60 takes a seat on the far, far end of the couch. His fingers thread itself into Sumo's fur, calming the rising speed in his thiruim pump as you drink your drink and look at him.

"You're very different to him, you know." RK800-60 doesn't have to guess who you're talking about. Though, it doesn't make this statement any less strange. You're looking at him over your tea like some doctor, analysing an illness. It's unnerving.

"Am I?" He tries to distract himself with Sumo, but it's difficult when he catches your head tilting in the corner of his eye, watching how your hair moved as it did. Taking a sharp breath he tore his eyes away just before you smile.

"You... well, at first you were an asshole." He flinches but does well to hide it as a simple movement. Staying deathly silent he waits for you to continue, and you do just that.

"But you... changed." There's emotion to your voice, layering the last word in a way that draws his eyes, focusing on your, quite frankly, perfect face.

"How so?" He asks, and you shrug. There's an odd air about you. Like you want to say something, but at the same time feel better with it concealed behind your lips, inside your mind. Placing down the tea in a slow movement you kick back against the couch, a leg extending out onto Hank's cluttered coffee table. It occurs to RK800-60 how dark the room has gotten, what with the setting sun.

"You're very quiet. You don't... you don't really talk to me. Or Hank. And if you do, it's always to tell us that you've done something or you've helped or..." As you speak RK800-60 feels himself growing hot. Beneath his clothes, behind his ears. It's foolish and- and stupid, but he can't help but feel a flutter in his chest knowing you've been thinking about him. Looking at his actions and listening. You've- you've been paying attention to him. He feels his mouth going dry, throat closing up.

"You don't really talk about you." You finish, staring at him keenly, completely unaware of the minor freak out occurring in his head. He blinks a few times, drawing on every program on his body to find the words to speak. Something in English, that makes sense. It's a simple array of orders, truly, but difficult to follow.

"There isn't much for me to talk about." He decides, avoiding the subject altogether. He wasn't that interesting. It's why he's so shocked that you've noticed him at all. It's not a bad thing, no He just feels as if he... he doesn't have that much to say. Not compared to any of the other androids you knew. Not compared to Connor.

"I don't... I don't think that's true. I think you just restrict yourself." His eyes are locked with your again, unknowing of the turning yellow LED on the side of his head. Restricting? No, you misunderstood. He wasn't holding himself back. He was just being cautious. Testing the waters before he tried to overstep boundaries that would make you and Hank want him gone.

"Are you scared of me?" The question hangs in the air for a while. No. No, it's quite the opposite, not that you would know. He's scared of many things. Rejection. Hatred. The thought of never being accepted. But he's not afraid of you.

He could never be afraid of you.

"No." It's the most confident he's sounded in months. And you don't miss that detail as you watch, engrossed with his words. With his movements. Once again, RK800-60 feels his thirium pump catch.

"Then why are you always so desperate to just... not talk to me?" Were- were you blind? He wanted to talk to you all the time. He wanted to sit across from you and tell you things. Things he's never told another person for hours upon hours. He just- he didn't want to do that now.

Or the time before. Or the time before. He- He wants to talk to you till he's out of power. Rusted and old with a smile on his face. He just doesn't want to mess up again.

"I... don't know." He lies. Maybe he does know. Maybe he doesn't want to risk saying, or doing something wrong again. But he can't say that. He doesn't want to bring attention to it in the first place.

Your eyebrows are furrowed, watching him with eyes deep and clouded with thought. Though he knows you can't, it often feels as if you can see his every thought. Pluck it from his mind and speak it aloud like you can scan them from where you're sitting. This is one of those moments.

"You know I don't blame you for what happened, right? You were just a machine back then." Suddenly the carpet is the most interesting thing in the world, he thinks, leaning his elbows on his knees, clasping his hands in a fist for his head to rest on. He lets out a heavy sigh.

"But that was still... that was still me." He utters, the memories replaying in his mind, scratchy and broken like a badly edited video. He blinks them away like tears, stealing a glance your way to find you watching. Ever watching.

"What?" You whisper, and he feels his body tense. How was it you were always able to pick out the easy things. How had you managed to pull the one thing he didn't like to talk about into the open air? Was this what you wanted? Another reason to hate him? To turn closer to Connor. Letting his hands drop, his gaze fixes on you wholly, words shooting like bullets from his mouth.

"That was still me pointing the gun at you. That was me wanting to kill you or Hank to please Amanda, I- Regretting it doesn't change that it was me." He wants to sound serious and grave, but all that comes out are broken words. Warbly and strange in that stupid voice of his. Weak.

"You feel guilty." Yes. Another astute observation. He supposes one of you has to be aware as he just now notices that you've moved over. Closer to him to be exact. His core temperature is rising, 42% more than it should be as you sit near enough that your thighs are almost touching. His entire body goes rigid. He can't remember the last time he was so close to a person.

"You were confident," You say softly, thinking back as you stare directly into his eyes, making him swallow thickly under your stern gaze. Why were you doing this? What did it matter? Why did- why did this- he matter to you?

"You were positive that you were going to complete your mission and now you're meek. And sullen, and-" You're leaning in with a fading frown, and RK800-60 in all his laughable, embarrassingly wishful ways thinks for a moment, just a second that you're maybe about to-

"Oh, Y/N! Hello. I hope I haven't kept you waiting." He blinks, and you've moved back on the couch, back to your place at the sound of an open door, and a lively, familiar voice. Hank was home. And so was Connor. And all of the sudden, it's like he's no longer there.

"No, of course not! How was the case?" You ask, standing up from the couch with a bright smile, leaning over the edge as Connor places his jacket on a chair, shaking off droplets of rain from his perfect hair as his smile, as bright as the sun itself, meets your own.

You'd told him once to never compare himself to Connor. To try and become his own person. But it's hard when the people around him did it themselves.

He is numbers to you. The not-so-perfect copy to an infallible source. Connor had a name. He was a person who smiled and made you laugh. Who held long conversations with you, who could make you feel things other than mild interest.

Nodding a quick hello to Hank and Connor, he stands up, Sumo whining as he leaves to the kitchen, a plan for dinner or at least some kind of meal in his head. You'd be staying like you always did, giving him polite thanks for the food, and nothing more.

RK800-60 wasn't anything but that figure with a gun, threatening to destroy all you held dear. Something empty, something that was simply there. He's a replica. Not a person, not an individual.

And he knew deep down, that no amount of little favours would change that.


	34. Secret (RK900 X Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Friend: so there'es this tumblr post i remember where op said they work at a cafe or smthing and one day a guy in a turtleneck was there and they said 'i like your turtleneck' and he said 'can i tell you a secret?' and their coworkers were like trying to tell them to leave him alone and they were curious so listened and he just undid the turtle neck part and said that it wasnt really a turtleneck, he just liked having a dumb secret to himself. and then put the collar thing back around his neck. and now i just think of this and rk900 everytime 
> 
> Friend 2: anjsjzJAJSJAJSB OMI I WILL OWE YOU MY LIFE IF YOU ACTUALLY WRITE A RK900 & READER WITH THAT CONCEPT 
> 
> -
> 
> So I had to write it, clearly. Also includes a B99 reference.

Conan -RK900 as he sometimes preferred- was a... difficult person to understand. 'Person' used liberally because... did he really count? He certainly didn't seem to see himself that way. Telling you, even post deviancy, that he was still a machine. Still, just a thing made to complete a job, even if the ticks of irritation and eye-rolls told you otherwise.

Even now, 4 months after working with him did you find your own difficulties. And no better a place were they to appear than here, at a cordial mixer between the public and the police station. Everyone was dressed up, walking the floors and chatting, picking food off trays. You were not so socially inclined, sticking to the sides with your two companions. Conan and Connor, who were about as comfortable as you.

"This sucks." You grumble, taking another sip of chardonnay as you eye up your friend's attire. Connor had pulled it together, wearing a lovely blue-black suit and a crisp white shirt. He looked stylish, but not too overdressed for the occasion. Truly, you were proud.

Conan, on the other hand, was a whole other manner.

You'd dressed up. You, who hated to so much as think about getting out of your pyjamas in the morning. So here was this... this twat. This utter dickhead, standing at this super-important uber-special party, wearing his ridiculous CyberLife coat and that stupid fucking neck-brace.

"Why are you wearing that?" You purse your lips, looking him up and down out of the corner of your eye. It's not a friendly look, and Conan seems to tell as much as his severe grey eyes meet yours.

"Pardon?" Conan asks with an icy tone. Connor shifts uncomfortably from beside you as your eyes narrow. You gesture to his collar with your hand, wine glass still perched between your fingers like some rich English noble.

"That... That stupid thing around your neck, why do you wear it?" You ask again, a little more direct this time as Connor slips away, not willing to be caught in the middle of the likely shitshow.

"It's CyberLife issued." Your eyebrow pops up. Really? That was his excuse? What, was he frightened he wasn't going to look as deadly without wearing the stupid accessory that made him look like a sick dog. You press forward with a poisonous smile.

"Okay, but you don't work for CyberLife anymore. So why keep wearing it?" As you speak your arms cross, head tilted as he steps forward. It's now that you realize that you're alone, in your own bubble as the rest of the party bustles around you. Conan seems to has realized this as well, moving forward with the hint of a threatening smile as he leans into your ear, hot breath fanning into your neck as his lips brush your earlobe.

"It's a fake." He whispers, sending a shiver up your spine as you step back, eyes wide and alarmed at the growing grin on his face. Your eyes flicker down to his clothes, horrified.

"What?" It's more of a hiss than a whisper as you watch his hand come up to the collar, fixing around a strap as with a horrendous, velcro noise, the collar of the coat comes away, leaving the rest of the cloth still attached to his body, his neck bare and free as you briefly see his teeth with his grin.

"This collar isn't attached, see?" There's something menacing in his voice that unsettles you, forcing another step back as he takes another step forward, your eyes searching for anyone else who may be looking. It's as if you two are not there, however, no gaze drawn your way.

"Why- Why are you?" You stutter, watching as he clips it back into place, before looming over you with a foreboding smile.

"No one will ever believe you." He whispers chillingly, resting a hand on your shoulder with the slightest, upsetting laugh.

And with that, Conan is gone. Stalking away, just like how one would expect a straight-laced detective would look. Leaving none the wiser as Connor comes back, head tilted at your blood-drained, terror-stricken face.

"What happened?" He asks, looking back to where Conan had been. He'd somehow vanished in the seconds you'd both looked away. You weren't about to complain about that, however.

"I don't... I don't know..." You mumble, handing him your glass as you walk away in an almost trance-like state, looking for the nearest source of alcohol.

"I don't know..."


	35. Family (Simon x Reader)

There were rules that came with living in Jericho. Rules created by its founder and leader, Simon, that normally you followed to the T. You respect Simon, you admired his courage to start a safe haven in spite of all the humans looking to kill deviants like he or you. When it came to orders and directions you listened, and so did the others.

Before Jericho, you worked at an information desk. Directing lost tourists and aggressive sightseers around your dilapidated city with a smile, and the patience of an angel. Your deviation was a slow build up, but once it happened you ran. You ran and ran until you ran into Simon, and one look in his eyes made you know that you'd never look back.

There was never a day you regretted being beside Simon. Even if most times you were too Inside your own head to tell him how you felt. How you ached to hold his hand every time you stood at his side or were weighed down with want to lean on him and talk about your feelings and emotions. But you didn't want to burden him. You didn't want to distract him, so silent you stayed. Silent, but happy and free.

It was hard to say you didn't miss anything from your old life. The little things that pushed you closer to the humanity you now so strongly identified with.

You missed the fun. You missed the life in the city. Where children's laughter carried into your workplace, from the park across the road. A stark contrast to the empty halls creaking rusted metal as you walked. Where sunlight hit you from every angle in through the windows, here it was rare. Something you risked exposing your hiding spot for when you snuck outside, through the derelict abandoned docks. You missed listening to rain on a dark evening from inside your station, here water

You missed these things in the way that you wished you could feel them here. Where you were most safe, most loved by your fellow androids.

You never said a word. Never made a complaint or did anything that could make Simon's life or work more difficult. You'd seen the worst of what the stress of leadership did to him, and you refused to take any part in anything that could become the source to his pain. You did not break the rules, you did not try to stray outside.

Things changed, of course, when you found Emily.

Being so far away, news of CyberLife's achievements were rare and far between. There'd been months between any news, and glimpses of the outside world weren't often paired with adverts from your creators. Still, none of you could prepare for the visceral shock of having a child -no older than 9 or 10 it seemed- stumbling through the hold of the rusted, torn up ship you called home.

At first, you're worried and confused. How had this human child com aboard? Where were her parents? It's when you see the circling blue LED on the side of her head that your stomach drops, and you know.

She sits with you and Simon that night. Teary-eyed and shaky, telling you stories of horrible neglect and mistreatment by a family that should have done nothing but loved her. All the while her two hands, small and trembling holding onto Simon's shirt and your hand, looking for an affection and love she'd never truly been shown.

You spend the night with her on your lap, your fingers running rubbing her back as you coo soft words into her hair, taking on a parental role you never thought you'd be met with. And certainly not with such enthusiasm.

Simon's good with her. He tells you it's because he's built for this kind of thing, but there's a tenderness in his hugs and talks with her that reach a level you could never. He's there for comfort, for affection. While you're a stable figure. One with stories about the outside world, and promises of fun.

It's funny, really, how well you three seem to gel together after those first 2 weeks together. You were almost like a... no. That was a little bit too much.

Every day from then is an urge to make her smile. To come up with games and wild stories to keep her occupied, and new people to open up to. You try anything to bring a smile to her face, even if its appearance is rare.

But with its safety, Jericho took away. And it didn't take long for the young girl to start wanting for more. To see the sunlight, to play in parks with other children. And you as well, begin to feel the same. More than you wanted before. Enough that it pushed you to break the rules, and make silly mistakes.

So here you were. In the lowest decks of Jericho, making more noise than you should have been as you and Emily ran back and forth, handfuls of multicoloured (very not allowed, especially down here) black dotted balls in your hands.

"Moonball!" You shout as you lob another ball into the air, sending it up into the array of beams, a cacophony of metal no louder than the pure, screeching laughter of Emily as she followed the ball with her eyes, dropping god knows how many, letting them tumble to the floor.

A year ago you wouldn't have considered it. Sneaking out of Jericho to rob a toy store? Risk exposure for something as little as that? Never. Never in a million years. But now it was different. Now you had her smile to look forward to. And that was enough to push you from one day for the next.

"Oh. I'll get it!" She shouts with a bright smile, running down the stairs after the ball which had tipped over the edge of one of the walkways, down to the floor below. You can barely get a word out before she's gone, all but a noise of footsteps on metal.

"Be careful!" You called back, biting back a smile as you listen out to the footsteps. Footsteps... getting closer?

"Enjoy life right now," You hear a voice behind you, familiar and gentle, sending a shiver up your spine. You jump and swivel around to find Simon with his arms crossed, a discarded moonball in his hand. He throws it to you.

"Cos in 30 minutes you're gonna have to talk to the boss." You catch it easily in one hand. He doesn't seem angry, despite your blatant disregard for the rules. Looking down at the ball, and then back at him, you try a smile.

"Simon, you are the boss." You say, drawling a little as he sighs and walks over to the railing where you're standing, looking over the edge with a smile.

"I'm not going to let you off the hook that easy." He tells you, sparing a glance your way. Your eyes meet his grey ones, warm and caring, and it's enough to take your breath away as you blush blue, looking back down into the darkness, searching for Emily.

"She just... she looked so happy. Can't I want her to be happy?" You ask, hearing him sigh. That tired look is back in his eyes. The one that makes your insides twist with unhappiness and guilt. One that very rarely seems to leave. You don't want to stress him out. No, it's the opposite if anything. But you know you can't live your life doing everything he wants, and he knows it too.

"I know but... sacrifices have to be made." You sigh heavily, wanting nothing more than to slump over at his words. You're ready for him to start in some long speech, but instead, he leans against you, shoulder touching your shoulder, fingers dancing across yours. You worry for a second that your systems are faltering, what with such a wild feeling dancing up your synthetic body. But that's just the effect Simon has on you.

"I just want to see you both happy. For once." You mumble before you can stop the words. Sitting this close, you can feel Simon tense up, fingers tightening their grip as for a moment you think he's about to say something when a yell breaks the brief moment of peace.

"Y/N! I found it!" Simon's grip on your fingers relaxes as you look down, calling back to Emily as quickly as you can.

"That's great, hun! Can you come up here?" You hear her shout an okay, followed by the clanging of small feet on metal, bringing another smile to your lips as you look at Simon's figure, leaning against the railing. He somehow seems a little closer than before, your head tilting back to look up at him.

"I am happy, you know." He tells you, eyes staring at you with a soft, unreadable stare. You blink a few times, tilting your head.

"You are?" You ask, thirium pump stuttering as you feel his fingertips brush yours again, leaning in a little like he's about to whisper a secret.

"As long as you're safe, both of you. I'm happy." He mumbles with a sincerity that near kills you on the spot. You wonder if it's your imagination, or if his lips really did brush your cheek. You can hardly confront him about it with the sudden figure that bounces into sight, moonballs recollected and dropped obediently at the ground. Emily has her attention span taken once again as she locks eyes with Simon, who was likely her second favourite person on the ship.

"Simon! Come and play!" She says with a brightness that he can't refuse, letting Emily grab his hand and lead him away before you can say another, flustered word. And all you can do is follow, leftover toys in your hand as you're left to wonder how exactly you'd been lucky enough to be lead to this small, strange bunch.

This... family.


	36. Fluster (Daniel x Reader) [Help Pt 3]

The months that follow that moment you shared with Daniel are some of the easiest and calmest of your life. It's strange, really, that harbouring a fugitive would bring peace and quiet to your life of all things. But that is simply what happened. With his presence in the house Daniel makes your days easier. You want to come home from work, you want to take days off to sit and talk about everything and nothing. You want to spend time with him, watching as he sits on his windowsill, book in his hands and the sun in his hair.

There's a lot more you want to do with him too. Things that you'd be embarrassed to say aloud to another person. Things that you physically could not even attempt to tell him, let alone let yourself think in his presence.

About how his lips might feel on your neck, or his nose brushing against your cheekbone. How it might feel to lean against his body, his arm around your waist, chest against your back reading a book over your shoulder, his face pressed into your hair while he pressed kisses to your head, hands and fingertips ghosting your skin through clothes-

Again you stop yourself. Again you remind yourself that those thought simply aren't appropriate. That these feelings aren't the kind of things you should be experiencing towards a man so new to emotions, or independence. You weren't going to take advantage of that, you weren't going to pressure him into anything. You would not risk ruining the trust you'd developed with him over these past few months. You cared about him too much to ever bring around the hazard of losing him, or pushing him away. You could manage the surges of emotion, the want of love and affection if it meant still seeing him every day.

You never, of course, stop to think how Daniel himself feels towards you.

Not that he actually really knows or understands.

You both find comfort in each others presence, and a mystery in the slight distance you two keep. You have an acute interest in his mind and thought processes, and he in your bright and overwhelming emotional aura

You are new. You are different. You are worth his fascination.

Yes, there's still distance. Even after your hug, which he at first had so reluctantly and cautiously accepted. It takes a while for Daniel to even speak of it after, longer still for him to attempt to recreate these acts of affection that humans so desperately craved. Then again, he supposed he saw the ideal. Now more than ever.

Things are different for him here. Different to what he had with the Phillips. There he was a caregiver. Working with a child whose life was, in his mind, more important than his own. Everything he did was to do with Emma. Help her with school when her father was on work trips, cook dinner while her mother took a break. He even stood in as guardian for the more personal things. Nightmares and tears, tantrums and laughing fits. He was there through it all, for her.

There were no children to take care of here. You were a human adult. And most importantly- you treated him as one too. It never occurred to him that he would ache for such intelligent conversation or interactions until now. Nothing compared to sitting across from each other on his bed, flicking through novels and swapping facts and comments on the plots and the characters inside.

The books- god, does he love the books. When you're away there is not much he can do. A PL600 is the most recognizable androids in America. One without its android clothes would raise alarms, as would one without an LED. With deviant cases rising to the news as every day passes, he cannot take the risk. So he is stuck inside, battling the boredom with novel upon novel.

He wishes he could say he feels guilty for having you buy him so many books, but quite frankly he's. He can go through them within hours, retaining information quicker than your human mind ever could. Noting down every plotline, every character and detail and how they god there. Studying narrative, and learning it's inner workings with every turn of the page.

By far the most interesting to him so far are the romance novels.

They're always so quaint. Or primal. Sappy, over exaggerated and human. Daniel reads them for a laugh, remembering the silly fairy tales he used to read Emma. Of heroes sweeping their love interests off their feet with promises of romance and rescue from evil families. So cheesy and ridiculous, but not a bad learning experience.

Love. He's asked you about what it feels like before, and each time you have a different answer. Love is warmth when you see them smile, love is pain when you watch them go. He confronts you about it eventually, picking out the factual errors in your multiple answers until you drop the shocking, and uncomfortable bomb that love is many, many things.

It can be innocent, and it can be impure. Infatuating and captivating. Unhealthy and dangerous. Platonic, familial, romantic. Love is everything and nothing and it's seemingly got a knack for getting under Daniel's metaphorical skin.

It sounds terrifying, he decides one Friday night. Rain is battering the windows and he can hear distant music down the hall as you get up to god knows what. He shuts the book in front of him, another erotic novel that has bored him out of his mind. It wanders as he contemplates your words and what he's read, and decides all at once that it just isn't for him.

It's completely miserable. Wretched and distracting. No matter how many nice twists you try to put on it, he can not find an appeal to it whatsoever.

Why would he want to dedicate his life to someone else? Why make decisions based on the well-being of another? He's done that all his life, and where had it got him? Stabbed. Betrayed. Alone.

No. Sadness was bearable, and happiness? More than welcome. But love? Lust? He'd have none of it. Not when he's only so recently learned how to care for himself.

And besides, he hardly had many choices.

Trapped inside all the time, it's difficult to go out and meet people. Again, with him being so recognisable. So he resigns himself to stay inside, waiting for you to come home with a patience and want that's maybe, just a little bit too eager. It's hard not to be when you make things so... entertaining.

Take last week. You'd come in with bags and dumped them on the table, to find Daniel in the living room watching television or sitting cross-legged in his room reading a book. He's still quiet, and you'd suspected that it was simply a part of his nature. Speaking softly and curtly, preferring his time alone.

That wasn't to say he did not like your company. No, unawares to you it was quite the opposite. For him, there was something new and indescribable in having a warm body sitting at his side on the couch. Fingers tapping his thigh or brushing his arm as you'd squirm, unable to sit still through tense action scenes, unable keep your thoughts to yourself. Indeed, the first time he laughs, genuine laughs is during a news broadcast later that day.

Like any other night, he's leaning against his hand, eyes lazily taking in information about the issues in Russia and here, in America, and the godawful diplomacy that had brought the two countries so close to war. It's nerve wracking, truly, to see President Warren so easily discussing the replaceability of android lives. Daniel can feel himself shifting with the discomfort as shots of androids being built and destroyed are played on screen. Behind him, in the kitchen, you seem just as agitated. If not more he thinks, as the sound of a tray slamming against the counter makes him jump, drawing his anxious gaze.

"Shut up, you unqualified bitch!" You shout with an angry poison that takes Daniel off guard, as he looks to the tv, realizing who exactly your words were pointed at.

"They have more feelings than you, you unpleasant, cold hearted-" You slam down a dish towel in frustration, face screwed up into a scowl that makes you look a tiny bit ridiculous, what with the brightly coloured apron on your front, and oversized oven-mitts covering your hands. A lasagna with intense structural instability teetering and dripping over the edge of the metal dish. He's never seen you look so... angry.

There you were, yelling at the television, mid-cooking, looking like an angry suburban mother while simultaneously attempting to defend his rights, to a person in a screen who cannot even hear you. And Daniel can't help it. He doesn't even make a proper attempt to stop it as he draws a hand to his mouth and laughs. He laughs.

For the first time in 2 months, Daniel laughs. An actual, longer than 1-second laugh. A laugh that comes from his heart (artificial as it may be). Daniel laughs, and you stop dead in your tracks with your eyes transfixed to your face. Any trace of anger simply melts away, leaving you staring at him, utterly dumbfounded.

"Oh my god, you have the cutest laugh." You snort, ignoring the 'unqualified bitch' on screen, who's ranting and raving is all but blocked out as Daniel's focus centres in on you. You hand raising to cover your mouth, stifling giggles that fill his ears and prompts more laughter to pour from his lips.

Daniel likes the sound. The melody from both your lips that mix together like the sweetest duet. You take notes to try and draw the noises from him more often, and he, in turn, tries to open himself up to your humour and your comments more.

You always have the strangest comments while you read or watch something. He would have thought it distracting, but something about the sounds coming from you made it bearable. Softly spoken words and gasps in response to events in the content were common, as were long ranting speeches fueled by frustration or excitement, responding to the characters as if you could hear them. This night, nearly 3 months on from your first meeting is the same. With a television show, you'd both been keeping up with taking up the tv's frame.

You'd starting sitting at opposite ends of the couch, but as he shuffled through the hour-long episode and you got up for food and bathroom breaks, you'd at some point grown closer. Close enough that your legs, pulled up underneath you brushed against his thighs and your head, weighed with the weight of work that day, threatened to lean on his shoulder. He believes he's the only one who's noticed the sudden closeness, as you are far too enraptured with the television to even bat an eye.

"Oh, they're so in love." You coo as he watches the pair on the screen, sitting next to each other and talking like normal people. Opening up about personal things, maybe, but it's still nothing revolutionary. They're friends, acting just like he and you. He raises a quizzical brow.

"They're just talking." He says, the words coming out a bit blunt. He spares a glance to you and finds you giving him a withering stare.

"About their pasts," You say, throwing out an arm towards the tv like that's supposed to convince him any further.

"It takes a lot to discuss traumatic events with someone. And in all the previous episodes he's refused to talk about it with anyone else. But here he is, opening up-" He watches as the protagonist moves slightly, taking his companion's hand. Again, physical affection. No different from what you showed towards him, and he attempted to show with you. You, however, seem to feel this means something.

"Holding hands." You say, eyes snapping back to him with that spark you always got when talking about romance. He blinks, waiting for you to elaborate as you roll your eyes and groan, sinking lower into the couch cushions.

"Writers don't put that stuff in for no reason. He thinks they're different. You can see it in his eyes." In his eyes? He'd known you to read into these things before, but never to this kind of extent. Normally it's just an offhand comment, but there's something about these two characters that have drawn forth an investment that he simply can't fathom.

"Different?" Different? He does not understand. They're just friends, they're close. They look at each other like the two of you do.

That's friendship, isn't it?

"Yeah! That's part of knowing how you're in love." What? No. No, love was different. Love was all kissy and making disgusting, lovey-dovey eyes. He'd seen love between sickening teenagers in the park while walking with Emma. It was everything at once and then nothing. Fleeting and useless.

"Explain." He turns his attention fully to you. Where had you got this from? Had you experienced it differently? What were you seeing that he could not?

"Well, the person- they're different," You begin, and he tilts his head.

"Different." He repeats, doubt lining his voice like a finely sewn cloth. But still you're nodding, hellbent and determined on making your point.

"Yes. With anyone else, you'd be repulsed by the stuff you hate. Maybe- maybe bungee jumping or going to some awful party. But because that person is there, you want to do it. They make you think of things you've never considered before- new aspects. You look at them with a rose-tinted lens, seeing them and life alongside them as just... better." Daniel stares at you, words sinking into his skin, into his body. He concentrates on your rambling face, taking in the distant look in your eyes and the quirk of your lip. Like some alert, he hears what sounds like the ding of a kettle inside his head

Oh.

"Oh," Daniel says, staring at you with a strong intensity, that makes your stare break for a moment. He's gone completely rigid, his muscles locking up, his LED cycling through colours. Blue, yellow, orange. Blue, yellow, orange. You lick your lips and he feels every single working biocomponent in his chest fail and stutter. 

"Does that make sense? Have I explained it well." You shift, your knees dragging along his skin, and within seconds he's on his feet, hands fixed to his sides as he stares down at your sitting form. There's concern in your eyes that makes his head swim, your hand reaching out for his fingers as he stammers out an excuse.

"Better than you could ever imagine. Could you excuse me for one moment?" You can't even answer as he paces out of the living-room and down the hall, picking up speed as he darts into his room, shutting the door firmly, his forehead resting heavily against the wooden panels.

"Fuck." Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck FUCK. What the fuck?!

59% stress level. Warnings messages fill his mind, among other things. Images of your face. Your laughter, your hands holding his.

A shuddery, unnecessary breath escapes him as his arms wrap around his middle. 67%. He's thinking about what you said. Trust, openness, new 'rose-tinted' things. Daniel's hands go to his face, rubbing his eyes and slapping his cheeks.

How could he have been so oblivious? How did he not realize? Not notice? All this attention he paid, all the time he spent waiting for you to come home. The warmth in his chest when you met his eyes, how distracted he got whenever he watched you play with your hair. The honest and good feeling of secure happiness he had by simply being in your presence.

Daniel didn't want to be in love. He didn't want it, he didn't want this. He just wanted to have a friend, all he needed right now was a friend. Someone there for him, he couldn't risk endangering his new home, his new life just because of some ridiculous confusion. He wants so badly to believe he's confused.

Slumping down into the bed, hands in his hair, he decides that you'll be finishing the episode alone tonight. He couldn't come back out and sit there beside you in your pyjamas with your hair all ruffled and that sleepy smile on your face. He isn't sure how long he'd be able to hold out, and he doesn't want to lean in and- do something he might regret. Another low groan escapes him.

How is he going to talk to you now? How do people do that? Everything has changed, but you won't have noticed a thing. He hadn't even noticed a thing until recently. It had been so easy, and so subtle. Now? It was all he could think about. No amount of bulky pillows pressed to his face, or muffled yells into soft bunched fabrics would force that warm coil, overheating his core power system, and frazzling his processors. No. If he wanted to make this stop- he would have to learn how.

Cold air hits his face as he frees himself from his cotton face-prison, eyes falling to a discarded pile of books by the windowsill. Books with covers depicting all kinds of risque scenes that made his stomach lurch, for the first time, in flustered embarrassment. Daniel slipped off the bed with a sigh, reaching for the nearest copy.

They'd gotten the android into this mess, so he was sure they could fix this... idiot feeling.

Right?

God, did he hope they could fix him.


	37. Walk (Connor x Reader)

"I'm not sure I understand the point of this." Among the cracking of tree branches and the soft song of birds, Connor's voice reached your ears. Joining the peaceful sounds into one gentle melody that made your eyes shut, and you gentle footsteps halt.

It wasn't often you got to enjoy nature. Detroit wasn't exactly the place for a connection with the earth, and while you weren't some tree hugging-hippy, you would be a liar if you were to say you didn't enjoy walking out in sun, breathing in the fresh air. Despite your best efforts, you never seemed to be able to find time to take the day off and drive further out to the thick and far forests that Michigan offered. For once luck was on your side, giving you the wonderful opportunity to take the weekend to explore.

Connor didn't seem to feel the same.

You had to give it to him- you certainly hadn't seen anything as funny as a CyberLife android half-slipping down a muddy hill, over-dressed and overwhelmed by the bugs that attacked his form. No doubt the insects were confused as to why he wasn't offering any sweet, red blood to their creepy, suctiony mouthparts. You shivered.

"Do you need help, or-?" You snort as he reaches you at the bottom of the wet, grassy hill. You, having done this a billion times, had managed to find footholds in seconds without a moment to blink. Even with his reconstruction, Connor had managed to fuck up every single step like they were quicktime events in a shitty, choice based game.

"Why are we here?" It's more of a depressed, miserable statement than a question. Connor crosses his arms, hands in his armpits with his face half obscured in a thick scarf, and a pulled down beanie. He looks like a four-year-old on the brink of a tantrum, and quite frankly, it's hilarious.

"Because you asked to come along." You tell him, walking over to a nearby tree, leaning to take a quick rest. A quick glance around the area tells you a few things. The track your on is clearly for beginners, winding down only a little. The trees are so far spaced one could likely thread a car through this place, were they careful enough. The path is clear of roots or vines to trip on, the gravel isn't even sharp enough to cut through your sturdy climbing boots.

You're told many things in the few moments you spend looking around, but your main takeaway from this is that Connor is being a giant baby.

His eyes are glued to the hill and the stairs that lead up it. Even his stance tells you how uncomfortable he is. You knew he was a city boy but Jesus Christ. Was he built to be allergic to plants?

"Shouldn't we return to the car? Hank will be surprised to wake up alone." He swipes away another bug, most thankfully having given up on attempting to break through the impenetrable fortress that was Connor's 7 odd layers of clothing. Oh, and the whole artificial plastic skin as well.

"Bold of you to assume Hank has ever given a single shit in his life." You respond, locking eyes and cocking an eyebrow. Hank had gotten into the cooler in the back during a toilet break on the drive back, and managed to drink 4 beers and half a bottle of vodka before passing out in the back seat, leaving you to drive his stupid car. You'd left him at the path entrance, and that had been a good hour ago.

"You really don't wanna be here, huh?" Swinging your small pack off your back, you search for your water bottle, watching Connor avert his eyes and look away, the ground. Anywhere but the sky-scraper like trees that surrounded you.

"I... I don't like being so far from civilization." Your brow furrows as you take a swig of your bottle, quick to swallow the water before questioning his words.

"Really? I find it peaceful. Plus, there's a town about 30 minutes from here." You nearly offer the water to him before realizing that no, he doesn't need it. Packing it away you look back and find Connor has his eyes directly on you. Funny, it was, you always found the calm energy of the forest in his eyes. Brown and soft, like fresh soil. Yet here you could draw no similarities. Nature truly could not compare.

"The nearest CyberLife part store is over 100 kilometres away." He tells you, reciting the facts from what was likely a file in his mind. Still, you did not see the point.

"So?" You tilt your head, watching the look in his soft brown eyes falter.

"So if I slip and damage myself, I'm done for. At least until you can get me out." Connor grows quiet near the end. Almost like he's worried you wouldn't bother, what with how many times he's been replaced in the past. Like a stab to the gut, you feel sudden guilt fill your body on behalf of all your teasing.

"You know I wouldn't let that happen, right?" You take a few steps towards Connor, you pack long forgotten. He shrugs as you come to a stop in front of him, drawing back his gaze with a cautionary touch to his shoulder. You hope he knows it's intended as a comforting action.

"I know, I simply... worry." He finishes and does not pull out of your grasp, despite still averting his gaze. Even as you reach out he cannot muster the courage to look at you, laying your other hand on the opposite shoulder. Seeing him like this -the discomfort and anxiety- it wasn't worth the peace and quiet.

"We can go now if you'd like?" You suggest, and it's like the sun comes up when he smiles, eyes alight with sudden relief that makes your cheeks pool with blood.

"Really?" He asks, taking a half step back but still staying- no, lingering, in your touch.

"Yeah. It's no fun if you're going to be upset the whole time." You tell him, watching as he breathes out an unnecessary, but cute sigh of relief. What's more, disarming his when he rests his hand on top of yours and doesn't let go.

"And we don't want to worry Hank." He says as he turns, your fingers still trapped in his own as he moves to grab and hand you your belongings, before leading you back up the hill, as of you did not know the way.

"And we don't want to worry Hank." You repeat with a gentle laugh, your fingers curling and ribboning with his as he walks you up the old, mossy coated staircase, memorizing the creases and cuts on your hand as best he can in this rare, peaceful moment.


	38. Words (Simon x Reader)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Sorry it's short! I'm trying to move through my prompts one by one, and I'm not feeling too well atm.

'Come home.' You'd told him just before he'd left, fingers lingering on his coat and shoulders, his confident smile doing nothing to quell the doubts that bubbled in your stomach like a sickening stew.

'Just come home.' You'd murmured, biting back a thousand other words you wanted to scream from the rooftops. To grab him by the arms and let it all spill like the tears which now flowed from your eyes, falling to the rusted floor of the ship that used to be his home. Your home.

Now all you could do was speak to empty air.

Markus came back, proud of his work at the broadcast tower, fueled with hope from the message he sent out to the thousands of humans and androids who had listened intently to every careful, educated word he spoke.

North returned with a smile for once. You thought you were seeing things, or that she had been replaced but no. There she was, grinning, laughing. She seemed to have found some peace in the chaos, which suited her perfectly in your opinion.

Even Josh looked pleased, which made you wonder with a smile how Markus had managed to make both him and your more bloodthirsty friend both so genuinely delighted -perhaps delighted was too much, they were hardly laughing and whooping like they had been when they returned with the parts. The mission must have been successful, you suppose, looking forward to debriefing with the one person you ached to see.

You watched the three go by, waving, not noticing their slightly morbid look. Not noticing the way they shifted under their gaze, not noticing anything about them as you look to the doorway, waiting and waiting for his figure to film the doorframe, clear blue eyes and a soft, happy smile.

You waited for a man who was not there.

Who would never be there.

You don't know what Markus said. It was all a blur, really, as he rests a hand on your shoulder, answering your questions and wiping the confusion from your face.

'Complications.' Is the first.

'Gunshot.' 'Hurt.' 'Sacrificed.' 'Ran.' 'Left-Behind.'

'Dead.'

Your legs give out.

'I'm sorry.' 'I'm so sorry.'

Words from his speech come in fragments, both important and irrelevant as you fell backwards onto a nearby crate, your legs giving way in cruel pins and needles, your thirium pump at risk of giving out. Hands touched your shoulders, your arms but nothing came through. Nothing registered but the ache in your chest spreading from limb to limb and numbing your mind with a pain you'd never be able to describe, never thought possible to exist and be felt.

You never thought you'd regret being a deviant, but if it meant taking away this pain? This hurt that you knew would stay with you forever? Then you'd revert. You would reset in a heartbeat.

Simon was gone. Simon was dead. Simon wasn't coming back.

And you were going to see him again.

You weren't going to give him that withering look, whenever he stepped up to do something dangerous that simply wasn't necessary. You weren't going to see that smirk, attractive and heart-spiking in its rarity. You wouldn't get the feeling of words, rising in your throat and catching on your tongue as you watch him laugh at something you said, sending jitters through your wire nerves. Or the calm look in his eyes when he had a moment to relax, leaning his shoulder against yours as you sat and talked, trying desperately not to make it too obvious that you were staring at his face.

Words you wanted to speak then, left unsaid for years upon years. Years you could now only cherish in memories. Words you wished you'd said when you watched him leave Jericho for the last time. Words that are so much easier

It's no surprise to anyone when they hear the words you sob into your hands. Tears falling through cracks in your hands and staining your cheeks, your entire body turning in on itself, shaking more violently as your stress levels rose. Nobody touches you, pulling away, unsure of what to do. What to say. What could anyone say in response to that?

Nothing is the answer. Your friends watch on and say nothing. Nothing of how Simon died. Nothing of the bullet through his head, fired by one of their own. Nothing as they watch, helpless and guilty in the face of the loss you'd now endure. From now, till the end of your life.

A loss that they themselves had incurred.


	39. Interesting (RK900 x Reader) [Unstable Pt 2]

RK900 wasn't one for heart-to-hearts. In fact, he would much prefer if he was able to go through each and every one of his cases without having to worry about starting any insufferable conversations. A whole life without ever having to talk about personal things with whiny people who needed an outlook on their problems which they could not solve themselves? It was a fantasy. A dream.

And that way it would stay, he supposes, as he is lead away by his excited 'older brother' figure, RK800, Connor. Lead towards the police stations restrooms. Charming.

Privacy is what RK900 suspects is the reason for the disgusting change of location, as Connor ushers him inside, nose crinkling as he makes a quick check for anyone else possibly relieving themselves. They are lucky to find the place empty.

"So," Connor begins as he walks over to the mirror, playing with his tie as he did. Such a vain action, RK900 thought, with the urge to scoff forced down by his formal programming. Connor gives him a look out of the corner of his eye.

"Y/N said you've been acting strangely." Y/N. The word- the name does a strange thing to his insides. Lurching like someone had grabbed his wiring and tugged him forward. But when he runs another diagnostic scan, he finds nothing is wrong.

"I have not. All of my systems are in perfect functioning order." RK900 answers, walking up to the window, looking at his appearance in the mirror. He is calm, cold and collected. Dressed in the clothing he was made with. He is everything CyberLife would want him to be, he thinks with the slightest smirk.

"... Somethings changed." Connor says, and RK900 turns his gaze, finding that Connor is staring at him intently in the mirror, eyes flickering in the way that the android knows is a scanning action.

"What?" There's a bit more bite to his words, but it does not push Connor back. If anything the RK800 unit is reeled in, a spark of curiosity in his eyes. It makes RK900... uncomfortable.

"In your demeanour. In your eyes too. You look different." Now RK900 is looking at himself, trying to hide what desperation Connor had instilled in him. He looked normal. He looked like he always did. Pristine hair, clear eyes, clean, cold, calculated. Nothing was wrong. Nothing was off. He's sure of it. He- He would know.

"I look the same." He tells Connor, voice raising an octave involuntarily. How annoying, he would have to have that checked out. Connor continues to inspect him out of the corner of his eye, watching- almost waiting for something to happen. 5 long seconds pass before he speaks again looking back in the mirror to fiddle with his hair.

"Well, you look different to me. Do you feel different?" Does RK900 feel different? No. No- He doesn't feel. This is just an off day. Some minor glitch he can get fixed later with some update, he's sure.

"I... no." He says quickly, ignoring all the thoughts that ran through his head while you were around and the strange notifications. It does nothing to change Connor's mind, however. Perhaps the stutter in his voice was the tell, or the shake in the words, or the repeated change of pitch. What was going on with him?

"Was that a lie?" Connor asks, but he already knows. His smile bubbling irritation and indignance in his stomach, doing nothing to fuel the limp words that leave him.

"... Yes..." His gaze falls to counter, mind flickering through stills of his memories. Trying to track down the moment these issues started happening. It's... difficult.

"I keep... I keep seeing this thing whenever I talk to- certain people. Certain people." He hopes that that's vague enough so that Connor doesn't know what he's talking about. In the corner of his eye, he can see the sudden focus on the RK800's face. Like he's picked up on a clue on a crime scene.

"What kind of thing?" The teasing tone in Connor's voice is gone, replaced with the look of a bloodhound, intense and on the hunt. RK900 looks back up, speaking slowly as he watches for any change in his expression.

"Writing, in the corner of my eye. Software Instability." Connor's eyes widen, just a bit. So slight the human eye likely would not have been able to pick up on it, but RK900 did. He knew what was going on. Or at least, he knew something.

"I've seen the same thing," Connor says, the corner of his mouth turning up. RK900 feels his mechanical insides churn, anticipation biting at every single one of his wirey nerves.

"You have?" He tries not to sound desperate. But, again, his voice betrays him, much like the rest of his body has been these last few painful minutes.

"Yes," He says, a smile that he'd only recently learned to make natural growing on his face. It isn't one that fills RK900 with confidence, however, especially considering the ribbing joy Connor kept irritatingly showing.

"When I was going deviant." RK900 comes to a standstill. His brain shorts out, his body locks up and he doesn't respond at first.

No.

No, he can't go deviant. He can never become deviant, they'd all tried this beforehand and it didn't work. He didn't feel emotions. He- He doesn't feel emotions. 

He doesn't want to feel emotions.

"I- You must be mistaken," RK900 says, his voice layered in denial. No, this was not happening. Not today and not ever, he would not worry himself with things as... irrelevant as that. He had a job, a purpose. He would not sacrifice that just to get hurt, or weak. He would not be weak. He would be the best.

"When did this start?" Connor sidesteps his statement, which only makes RK900 more uneasy. When had he started feeling uneasy? He can't really think. He doesn't like it, regardless. This shouldn't be scary. It's just an obstacle. One he wouldn't let get in the way of his work.

Why was he scared?

"Before. Just before, with Y/N." RK900 explains, hating the sudden spark he sees in his counterparts eyes. Not this again. He had other things to worry- to think. He had other things to think about. You were not a priority.

"With Y/N?" There's that lilt in his tone again. Curious and teasing, he hates it. He just wants to concentrate on how to make this stop and get rid of it. This wasn't a joking matter.

"Yes, we were talking and it appeared. 3 times." He tells Connor as robotically as he can muster, Connor nodding as he listened to the words, tilting his head a little after a few moments.

"Talking about what?" Did it matter to him? It was simply a conversation. Private, between just he and you. Why did Connor care so much?

"Sickness. How they needed to return home." He tells Connor reluctantly, trying to make it as generic as he can. Connor is still able to pick up on it, annoyingly.

"And how did they react?" You? You reacted the way any human would when someone took interest in their vain, self-centred selves.

"It became very... personal." He says cryptically, his mind intruded with images of you once again. Why did you have to be so distracting? All he wanted was for you to do better with your work. He didn't ask for any of this.

"And you liked that?" RK900 stayed silent, and Connor smiled again.

"You like getting close to them?" He asks with that awful voice again, and any bubbling... things that began to start forming inside RK900 are gone. Forced down by logic and common sense.

"I am not interested in them if that is what you're asking." You're just another human. One that he works with, nothing more and nothing less. Connor hums and looks over to the stalls with a stare that drips with sudden disinterest.

"I wasn't asking anything. Simply speculating." Connor backs out suddenly, and it sends a flare umbrage coursing through him. What was that supposed to mean? What was he implying, and who was he to judge these things? To invest and then back out of his issues so suddenly when RK900 didn't have the luxury?

"They're- They're not interesting. They're irritating! And they're distracting, you don't- you-" RK900 himself is caught off guard by the sudden outburst, defensive and seeped with the animosity that takes even RK800 by surprise.

Software Instability ^^^

He cuts himself off as he sees that message again. That stupid, nonsensical message. His shoulders sag, and he leans up against the counter, hands threading in his hair in an act of distress.

"I don't want this." He tells Connor stubbornly and restlessly trying to ignore the sympathetic on the RK800's face. That's not what he needed right now. He doesn't know what he needs, but he doesn't- it's not that.

"You don't have to rush into this. You can go at your own pace." Connor rests a hand on RK900's shoulder, and he tenses up again. Affection and touch, another thing humans and deviants loved. Why? That wasn't helping. If anything he wants to be alone. Away from all the catalysts and complicators. Alone where he can just be... be him.

"I... I don't understand. I don't understand where I'm supposed to begin." He shrugs out of Connor's grip, stepping away. RK900 was not made for this, he was not prepared for this. It was all well and good for Connor to talk about it from the outside. But he didn't understand the struggle, RK900's personal struggle. And he doubted he ever could.

"I don't either," Connor says, and RK900 notes that he doesn't go to touch him again, hands raised as if he were at gunpoint. 

"Not completely, but I can help." RK900 stares at him again, scanning and scanning for any signs of jokes or tricks or misdirection. Everything tells him that Connor is being honest, but there's still a level of unrest...

"Help how?" RK900 asks as Connor returns to his side, entering his space while still keeping a respectable distant away.

"With explanations. Of glitches, and emotions and..." Connor's eyes glint mischievously, but this time RK900 feels no discomfort.

"Attraction." Connor finishes, and RK900's arms cross. Thinking about it, getting information was the best approach. Sure, Connor and he were not the same model, but getting some idea of what deviation was would put RK900 on the path to stopping it. He bites his tongue.

"Explain." He says shortly and sharply, not allowing simulated emotions to cloud his decision making this time around. Connor's lips quirk into a smile, he too crossing his arms.

"Alright," He nods, taking on a diplomatic, work-like pose. Like he was about to begin a soft interrogation. "Let's start with Y/N." RK900 clenches his jaw.

This would be... interesting.


	40. Favours (RK800-60/Colin x Reader) [Replica Pt 2] {NSFW}

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I'm so happy to get this done oh my god. This took a week to write but it was so worth it to bring this story to an end. I think it's one of my fav pieces so far and defo my longest at 7,300 words. I really hope you enjoy it, tysm everyone!

Favours were not something you accepted lightly. When someone goes out of their way to do something for you, you would be lying if you said it didn't make you a little anxious. Were there ulterior motives? Would this person ask for something in return later? These questions made you apprehensive, drew you to caution.

When Connor asked you for a favour, it was quite different.

You'd always been fond of the android, and it really did show. You were sure he knew about your little crush, and seemingly didn't have any issues with it. It was simply a small feeling that you humoured, relishing in small shocks from touches and fluttering heartbeats from eye contact. You'd not be moving the earth for the man, but some papers and free time? Those were certainly up for debate. It seemed this wasn't on his list of agendas today, however.

"Can you spend some time with my brother?" Connor doesn't even say hello. He's suddenly just there, right behind your desk, with his hands resting on the back of your chair, tilting you back a tad to catch your attention.

Turning your head you though over the question for a millisecond, simultaneously ignoring the shiver that ran itself up your spine as your head tilted, cocking an eyebrow.

"Your brother?" You ask dubiously. You knew who he was talking about. RK800-60. An android the same model as Connor, who, when you first met, was your enemy. Now? Well, you were still trying to figure that out.

"Yes." There's a smile on Connors' face, eager and hopeful. It's disarming for a moment before your senses come back to you.

"Why?" You lean back in your chair and tilt your head, glancing around to make sure no one was listening. It looked like your conversation was hidden under the rising thrum of noise in the station.

"He's..." Connor pauses for a moment, gears turning in his head. His hands raise and freeze like he's trying to think of the best way to word it. You see a momentary flash of something you can't identify in his eyes, before then he continues, his voice lower and quieter.

"He doesn't really talk to anyone apart from Hank and I. And Hank barely talks. I believe he would benefit from having more friends." Connor moved in a little, speaking in hushed tones like this was some big secret. You didn't have to be a genius to know that RK800-60 didn't talk much. Whenever you were over it was always averted eyes and mumbling words. Nothing like the cold, uncaring thing you'd first met him as. It was unnerving, seeing such a change, and made you inclined to spend less time away from him. You try to shift your own gaze from Connor, but it's difficult with such a look in his eyes.

Connor... Connor looked worried. This was coming from someone who so rarely opened up with his emotions. It pricked at your chest, playing with your bleeding heart.

"Okay. I guess I can make some time to come and visit." You concede, smiling shyly when you see his eyes light up, quickly ushering himself back down to a normal level of excitement.

"Just don't let him know that I've asked you. Act like you've done it of your own accord." Connor's hand rests on your shoulder, and you feel a fluttering sensation in your stomach, a tingle in your spine. You don't even question the request, nodding dazedly.

"Of course." You respond meekly as his lips quirk into a smile that makes you melt, watching helplessly as he walks away.

Leaving you back at your desk, without a clue about what was laid for the road ahead.

Falling in love isn't easy. And it's even harder when you're simultaneously falling out of it. You'd argue to this day that you liked Connor, but you never loved him. Maybe at the time, you thought you did.

Now you knew what love really felt like.

And all the pain that came with it.

Recalling it, you can sum all the moments that lead to the moment of realization as favours. Favours offered, favours received. And all the ones you simply... didn't. Didn't give when you felt you really should've.

The first moment is when you start work on this little 'mission'. A favour of a name. You never thought that acting on the words of Connor would lead you to giving RK800-60 a little individuality, but it's hardly a bad thing. Not in your mind, at least.

You'd been dropping by once every day for a week. Simply hanging out on the couch in the mornings where nobody but Sumo and him are home. He's always been bustling to make you tea and do chores, all while making polite conversation that never goes deeper than work. It made your stomach churn uncomfortably to have him act like such an undeviated android, catering to your whims.

Watching him now, it's hard to tell he's deviant. The only way you know is because you knew exactly what kind of killing machine he used to be beforehand. Now, he was like some meek, pre-deviation AX400. Doing housework and avoiding eye contact. If you were going to continue to talk to him on Connors request, there would need to be some changes. Changes that you were going to have to prompt.

"Why don't you have a name?" Your voice makes him tense as you watch him pause, looking back to your seated form on the couch from the kitchen, where he had been going through the pantry checking things. His brown eyes met yours momentarily, before quickly snapping away.

"A name? Like Connor?" He asks, going back to his work a little slower. You nod, even though he can't see you, fingers playing with the fraying blankets laid around you.

"Yeah. Calling you Connor would be confusing, but anything would be better than 'RK800-60'." You deepen your voice for comedic, dramatic effect, and swear you saw his middle shake with laughter for just a moment. It brings a smile to your face.

"I was thinking of... Colin. Maybe?" He turns around to you, and it takes a moment for you to realize he's looking for validation. Colin, huh?

"I like it." You tell him honestly, lips quirking up into a smile that he briefly shares, before looking away again. He really did do that a lot, you think with the slightest tinge of pity.

Colin. It's nice. It suits him. You could certainly get used to that.

You're quick to pick up on the name, as are Connor and Hank surprisingly. You think that it's because it makes him sound more like a person, but that's simply pure speculation.

Keeping to your word you hang out with Colin more. Mostly it's still the same dodging of personal questions. He seems to have no real use of free time. Once his job is over he just sits, unsure of what to do. It's kinda of sad, honestly, but it does provide you with the perfect times to set a particular date to spend with each other.

This new morning routine is surprisingly... nice. All you had to do was mention to Colin was that you were planning on taking walks to get fitter, and he was already planning up a schedule. He was always good like that, you'd think with a smile.

Walking suburban Detroit, on your way to a nearby park with your hands shoved inside your pockets, you take the moment to listen to Colin's voice. It's sharper and clearer than Connor's. To any other ear, it could be thought to be identical, but you could hear the differences in their tone that marked their differences in personality.

You aren't sure what he's talking about, too focused on the sounds of kids playing and leaves rustling. Dogs bark and parents yell, and Colin talks and talks. Longer now than you've ever heard him speak. Unless of course, you counted his monologuing at the Cyberlife Tower, which you never did.

It was hard to believe that this was the same android who'd held a gun to your head all those months ago. In the corner of your eye, you can focus on the finer details of his face. Pale and sombre, almost sallow. His brown eyes, though bright with intellect always seemed weighed down by something sad. Something at the back of his mind, haunting him.

"I think Sumo wants to stop." You cease your walking, and Colin jolts to a stop mid-sentence, eyes snapping to the heavily panting frame of Sumo, who seems to want nothing more than a drink and some pats.

"We can get water up ahead." He says after a quick pause, the LED on this head flickering for a moment. You'd asked him once before why he'd kept it on. Most androids you'd met saw it as a sign of their oppression and had removed it the first moment they could. He'd stuttered to a stop, unable to give you an answer. Were he to take it off now you'd likely find it strange, being so used to the pale blue glow against his temple. Flickering softly even now as he knelt down, taking Sumo's face in his hands.

"You deserve it, you've been a very good boy." Colin tells him in a gentle tone, eyes completely focused on the dog as he kneels down to Sumo's height. You feel your heart jump in your chest for just a moment as he speaks, words thick with affection. You'd never heard his voice like that before and it- that was weird.

Weirder still is what happens when you watch Sumo's reaction, licking Colin's face and drawing forward a light and shy burst of laughter and a slight, gentle smile.

Colin laughs. An honest, actual laugh, instead of whatever fake huff he'd give in response to Hank or Connor or you when you'd try to joke around. It's the first time you've heard him sound or look anything other than stilted or sad. And it's really, honestly quite nice.

"I'll- I'll, uhm. Get- water." You stumble over your words suddenly, face hot from what is probably the sun as you jog towards where he motioned, trying your best to ignore the soft sound of him calling your name and the subsequent shiver that runs up your spine as he does so.

For some reason this memory stays with you for the rest of that week, entering your mind more than once during a boring drag of work at the station.

The third time you find yourself connecting with Colin is not long after. Even though it's less than a minute, it's fresh in your mind and on your skin for the next month that passes, making you shiver whenever you're in private.

You're doing the dishes after watching a movie at Hank's. He'd fallen fast asleep on the couch

Connors' fingers brush against yours as you draw back, letting him take the cup you were reaching for. He's probably better at knowing how gently the dinnerware should be cleaned. His touch is fleeting and nothing. You barely notice at all, for Colin's hand is the next to touch yours.

Colin's hand comes to a rest on top of yours, in a darting attempt to grab the dish towel out of your hands. He seems upset that you've decided to waste your time on something as menial as dishes, but you don't notice. The moment his skin touches yours it's like a lightning bolt has shot up your body, searing you from the inside out.

You jump back suddenly, stuttering an apology as both men take over from where you were leaving. Connor doesn't speak, but Colin gives you a small smile that has you moving quickly towards the safety of the living room, throwing yourself into the couch. Unfortunately for you, Hank seemed to have woken up. And from his position in the armchair, had apparently heard and seen everything.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" He asked all gruff like, as you gave him a look, sinking lower into the cushions. You do your best to look like you don't know what he's talking about, but he sees through it in an instant.

"All that jumpy shit. What do you like the kid?" He snorts to himself, and you feel a short burst of anxiety. Like who? What was he talking about?

"Connor?" You asked, only to be met with an almost disgusted look as he glanced over to the two brothers.

"What? No, Colin." Colin? You'd let out a nervous laugh.

Colin?

Colin?!

What was he- You didn't- No, no Hank was being so silly thinking that- He's Colin, he's awkward and stilted. You were just hanging out with him cos Connor asked you to. Cos you liked Connor. That's why your heart beats so fast when you look at the two of them. That's why you were hanging out with Colin even after you'd already befriended him like Connor asked. And why you get so flustered when- when he-. When you-. Uh.

Uh oh.

"Uh oh." You'd mumbled under your breath, fake-checking your phone to come up with an excuse as to why you had to leave right that moment and call an end to the dinner in. Hardly saying a functional goodbye to any of the 3 men before careening out the door.

Colin. Of all the people, you'd fallen for Colin.

You hated how much it made sense. How right it seemed that you'd fallen for such a guy. Always jumping to help you, always listening when you spoke. He'd hardly said a word around you before, always so quiet. Now the simple thought of even hearing him speak creates an ache in your chest. And the way he says your name-

You spent the rest of the night with a bottle of wine, trying to make sense of these feelings that, in the morning, do not slip away.

The next week was like torture.

Every time you saw him you just wanted to get as close as possible. It was never an issue with any of your crushes before, but there you were, standing next to him trying to brush your fingers against his subtly. Walking shoulder to shoulder when you were both out in the park. You'd even rested your legs on his lap in an awkward attempt at casual affection. That had only lasted 5 minutes before he was excusing himself from the situation, only re-emerging a good half an hour later.

A whole week of hanging onto his words, giggling and smiling at things that weren't even very funny like some high schooler with a crush. Feeling electric burning in your body every time his body came within centimetres with yours. Or whenever you looked at his eyes- God, his eyes.

Every time he was hesitant. Especially more recently, with your more bolder attempts. You worry that he's completely repulsed by your actions. And you. The thought hangs over your head, driving your anxiety into a head-on battle with your wants. This morning, where you have a later shift at work, it's that latter that wins.

You drop by the Anderson household like any other day. Hank Anderson. Connor Anderson. Colin Anderson. They're all names that suit them very well. As you walk up the drive your eyes go to the window of Colin's room, and you wonder very briefly what Y/N Anderson would sound like spoken aloud. The thought is gone the moment your hand meets the doorknob.

"Hey!" You call into the house, not bothering to knock anymore as you tear open and shut the door behind you. It's like any other morning. Faint light comes in through the windows, the kitchen and living room clean from what you're sure is Colin's magic cleaning touch. Colin, who you note is missing as you stare at Connor and Hank, frowning as you look around the kitchen. The two men are in their overcoats, keys in their hands and on their way to work. But they're not who you're interested in seeing right now.

"Shouldn't you be at work?" Connor asks as you look beyond him, down the hallway. Still no sign of Colin you note, trying to hide your disappointment. You offer a quick answer.

"Night shift. Where's Colin?" You ask with a tilted head, not missing the look Hank sends Connor's direction as you give him a withering stare.

"He's in his room. In stasis- sleep mode, basically. Probably going through some updates. He should be up soon." Connor informs you. Both men seem eager to leave as you step aside, waving to the door.

"Alright. I'm gonna hang out here if that's cool?" If they dislike the idea, neither man speak up as they walk out the door, save for an off-hand comment by Hank.

"You basically live here anyway..." Hank grumbles, trudging into the outside world as you roll your eyes and offer them both a goodbye, shutting the door and locking it behind them.

It's strange being in the house with no movement. Sumo is fast asleep on the floor. Save for the flies by the window looking out into the garden, there's nothing else here but you. You take a deep breath and begin to wander down the hallway.

Recently there's been more pictures put up. Pictures of Connor, Colin, Sumo and Hank. Even you appear in some of them, posing or smiling mid-laughter in front of some trees, near the playground in the park. You think Hank looks happier, having his 'kids' around the house. Though you'd never bring that up with him in person.

Further down are where Colin and Connor stay. One is an old bedroom that had gone unused for some time for... reasons. The other was a small study, unchanged save for a rather unnecessary queen sized bed. Opening the door just a crack, that's where you find Colin.

The light is off and the curtains are drawn. But even in the dimness, you can see him, eyes shut, lying flat with a peaceful expression on his face. The LED on his temple circling slowly as he went through whatever software updated he needed. Without it he would have looked like a human, simply sleeping in for the morning like any would wish to do. With him asleep, you decide to indulge your curiosity.

Your footsteps are nearly soundless as you walk to the bedside, staring down at Colin's face. You'd never seen an android in stasis mode. From what you'd heard from Hank, both the RK800 models used to go into these states standing upright until they were made to do it 'like a normal fucking person'. You had to agree it sounded kind of creepy.

Colin just looks like a normal person, however. Not stirring even as you sit down at his bedside, hand moving to his curly brown hair, threading it through as gently as you can.

Curly at your suggestion, you note. When you'd found out that androids could change their hair you'd suggested he try something new. People kept mistaking him for Connor, and though he never brought it up you knew it bothered him. There was a flicker in his eyes, darkening with annoyance. It was good to see him something other than passive.

It looked nice like this. He looked nice like this. Peaceful, not having to worry about finishing some dumb job he'd given himself. You wish he'd take more breaks often. He wasn't made to do these stupid things. You wanted him to give himself more free time to explore the world. Explore himself too, and what made him his own person.

You smile a bit as his eyelids flicker. What would past you think now? Months ago you had all but wanted him dead, that gun at your head and the threat to your friends. He'd just been a replica. It hurt you now when you tried to think of him that way. He was like a whole other person, no matter how many times he assured you he was the same. Sweet and friendly. Dorky and awkward. You hum to yourself as you lean down, allowing a moment of weakness to press a chaste kiss to his forehead.

When you pull away you find your eyes locked with his. Brown, shocked, and wide open.

Awake.

"I- Apologies, Y/N. I believe you're in the wrong room. Connor-" Colin's voice breaks as he stares up at you. You should feel mortified for being caught like this. You should probably be running out of the room shooting apologies, but you're not. For once, you stand your ground. Swallowing as your hand moves from his hair and trails down his cheek and neck, before splaying on his chest.

"I don't think I am." You murmur with this sudden new burst of confidence. He shivers under your touch, which you take as a good sign. His LED is whirring quickly, flashing bright lights. It never once changes colour though.

"I- You're-" He stutters like he's trying to find a reason, to pull away. He keeps looking down to your hands anxiously and then back up at your face, licking his lips. Your confidence cracks, and you pull your hand back slowly.

"Do you not like being near me?" You weren't going to go ahead with this if he was upset. You loved him far too much to ever want to force something on him. Evidently, though, this seems not to be the case as his arm shoots out and grabs yours, fingers fastening around your wrists as you skin lights with warmth.

"No- No, no, no..." His eyes soften suddenly as he shakes his head, and it makes your heart hurt. As soon as his fingers are around you they're gone, up against his chest as he pushes himself up, so his back is against the headboard.

"Then why do you pull away?" You ask, hand resting on your lap as you search his eyes for an answer, watching his adam's apple bob as he swallows. Like he's too nervous to speak.

"I'm... I'm afraid I might do something brash." Your brow creases for a moment as you see his gaze flicker. Going from your eyes down to your... lips. Oh.

"What if I want you to?" Your hand splays out on his chest, pushing him back as you look over him. You can hear your heart thudding in your ears as your breath picks up. Does he want this too? Does he want you? You have no idea what you're doing to him as he feels his legs turn to jelly, his processors shutting down as his mind becomes mush. This only lasts a few seconds before his hands are on your shoulders, pushing you back.

"No- Stop-" You pull away completely out of his touch, anxiety solidifying at the bottom of your stomach. 

"What's wrong?" You whisper, afraid to speak too loudly or do anything that might distress him more. He's blinking fast, staring at you with a solemn sadness that cuts at your heart.

"I don't- I don't want to be a runner-up prize. I don't want to be someone you just settle for." What? Wait- what?

"What?" What was he talking about? Settle for? You stared at him in utter confusion, and upon realizing you have nothing more to say, he speaks.

"You love Connor. I know you love Connor, you're so in love with him and I- I'm nothing." Nothing. Nothing, he says, so easily like he's ordering food or telling you good morning. Nothing.

"Colin." You choke out like you've been hurt physically by his words. You wouldn't be surprised if you were, quite honestly. Your heart felt like it had been shot.

"I'm just a copy. I'm a replacement that wasn't good enough. I'm not enough for you." He looks down like he's staring at some bright light. Unable to keep eye-contact for too long as he opens his mouth and lets everything- everything pour out.

"I- I can't put into words what I feel for you. I can't describe it- I've never felt anything this strong before. You- you're like a rush of energy, a glitch in my mind that's always there. It's wonderful and distracting and warm but... it always reminds me that I'm wrong. That there's something wrong with me, that can't be fixed." His voice gets shaky and robotic. He's pushing these words out with a tremendous force, accentuated when he stares up at you with hopeless eyes and a mirthless smile.

"I love you, Y/N. And it's killing me."

Your heart breaks when he says those words. There's no other way to describe it, it just breaks. It's crushed in your hands as you watch his crestfallen expression. The expression of a tired and broken man. You want to sink into the ground and suffocate.

"You're... I thought you- Do you really think you're nothing?" Your voice is little more than a whisper, laced with pain as he looks away. Looks ashamed.

"I..." You lean back and thread a hand in your hair, laughing humorlessly as tears begin to wet your eyes, stinging with their sharpness. Nothing. It repeats in your mind over and over again as you think over your interactions with him, the ones before Connor asked you to hang out with him. A sickness rises to your throat. Connor. The only reason you even began to hang out with him is Connor- you feel disgusted with yourself.

Nothing.

"Do I make you feel like you're nothing?" Your voice is breaking and a lump is forming in your throat. No, no this wasn't- you were supposed to make him feel good. He was supposed to be happy- in love and happy.

"No- I just- It's me being stupid and- and it's not on purpose! None- none of this is your fault. You not feeling... feeling the way I feel towards you is not a bad thing. It's just how you feel. I should never have tried to change that." He stutters out, still looking away as you frown, wiping tears from your eyes.

"Change- Hold on- You're telling me all those favours and housework-" He wasn't. No- he-.

"You're trying to make up for what happened at the tower?" Your voice cracks and you let out a soft moan of pain as he doesn't answer. That was months ago. You'd forgiven him, all of you had forgiven him. You'd told him over and over again that you didn't blame him for what happened back then. How could he not? Why did you think it would be so easy for him?

"Colin, that's insane. That's not a life- that's torture." It sounds like hell. A nightmarish life, and for him to have been living it for so long-

"I get to see you happy, so no. It's not." He looks up and meets your gaze with an almost searing ferocity. You're shocked into silence for a few moments before you reach out and grab his hand, holding it tight between your own.

"Are you happy?" You ask as he freezes up, eyes focused on the way your fingertips are dancing across his skin. Caressing it softly.

Nothing. He doesn't respond, in an almost trance-like state from your touch. So you push a little more, a hand trailing up his arm to his face where you cupped his cheek, pointing his face towards you.

"Can you look me in the eyes and tell me you're happy?" You ask with your voice barely above a whisper. He licks his lips anxiously and you ignore the way your heart jumps, focusing on the shake of his head.

"... No." Your other hand goes up to cup his cheek, holding him gently as your thumb moves to gently run along his lower lip. His breath hitches unnecessarily.

"I want to make you happy, Colin." You feel like it's your civic duty to. This man- this beautiful, wonderful man who was opening himself up so vulnerably to you. There's nothing more you want than to make him happy. You sigh and run a thumb along his cheekbone.

"Connor-" He begins, but you don't let him continue, holding his face a little tighter as his eyes widen.

"I haven't spent the last week hanging onto Connor's side like a lovesick puppy! I haven't gone for walks with him every morning and night so I can listen to his voice and tried to clear my schedule all so I could see him." You let it spill with red cheeks, but no embarrassment. No regret. There's no shame as you let all your feelings for him out into the open air. None at all.

"Colin, I thought Connor was cute the first time I saw him. That's true. And it's also true that I like him. At one point I had a crush on him. But, Colin, I-" You take a shaky breath in as you laugh, drawing on the memory of him that had you so enraptured for weeks.

"A few weeks back I came by for a visit. I- I saw you playing with Sumo, at the park, remember? You were laughing and I couldn't stop thinking about how wonderful you sounded. I'd never seen you laugh before, I think of that moment every day of my life. That image is burned into my memory. Colin, I just- all I want is to see that expression on your face forever." He's silent and shaking as you lean in and press your forehead to his, fingertips tapping a light pattern on his cheek as you speak.

"I love you, Colin. I love you more than you could ever know. And everything in your past- our past, doesn't change that." It's funny how easy it is to say. Easier with your eyes shut, as you listen to your breathing and the sound of your heart. He's quiet, warm against you and you're sure he's going to push you away again when you feel a hand on your shoulder, and then another at your cheek.

"You- You do? You mean that?" It's hard to concentrate on his words. His touch is so warm, and it feels so right. You have to stop yourself from being lost in it as you open your eyes, meeting his hesitant but hopeful gaze.

"More than I've ever meant anything, love." It's like the walls come crumbling down as he breathes out, leaning forward to brush his nose against yours, eyes fluttering half-shut. He looks like he's in a dream.

"Could you say that again?" It's such a simple favour to ask, but you grant it, giggling airly as you do.

"Love. My love." You mumble, leaning to press a kiss to his cheekbones as he weakens for a second, before wrapping an arm around your back.

"Love..." He mumbles back as you melt, giving into his touch as you both lean in for a kiss.

God, is it nice. His lips are soft, and his body is so warm. You've been thinking that a lot, you realize, and worry that he might be overheating when the arm around your back pulls you tighter, deepening the kiss.

"This doesn't feel real." He whispers when you break away for air a good minute later. One of your hands is resting on his shoulder, the other still firm against his cheek. You've barely pulled away from each other, lips still brushing as you realize he's pulled you completely onto the bed, your legs pulled up below you. There are no complaints.

"It is. It's real, and- I've never been so sure about anything in my life." You tell him sincerely, looking at him with the most adoration you can muster as he smiles, one hand still cupped lovingly over your cheek.

"I love you." He whispers in awe, and you're quick to say it back. Repeating it over and over to each other as your bodies get closer.

"I love you."

"I love you." 

This is the morning you both learn what love is. Love, lust and everything in between as Colin pulls you so close that you're up on his lap, awakening feelings and thoughts that would make your grandparents turn restlessly in their graves. There are no more 'favours' between you two anymore. Only a balance of emotional give and take. The emphasis here on what you ache to give him, and what he hungers to take.

You have never been held this tightly before. It sets quite the precedent for the thousands of hugs you know you'll both be sharing in the years to come. The hands of a man desperate for affection and validation cling to your back, tugging at the fabric of your shirt. His face finding a home in the bare skin of the crook of your neck. A man who's months of isolation has reached a breaking point in this moment, painting shame across his cheeks in a deep hue of blue.

Soft whispers of relief have his lips ghosting the skin of your neck. The sensation and noise go right to your groin, gasping and rolling your hips upon his tense metal and plastic body.

You find him shivering and shattering at the hands of a hug. Breathing shaky breaths, nearly in tears at the mere sensation of touch. It's as heartbreaking as it is wonderful to see him melt so happily into you. After such a long time without positive touch like this, you get to work making this the nicest hug he has ever, or would ever experience in his life.

Fingers tangled in his hair, your lips finding the top of his head to press small kisses into his curls. You quite like how he's styled his hair. Much better than how it used to be, what once was a mirror of his brother's now sprung forth, framing his face perfectly. He was more beautiful than he could ever know. Your fingers wrap tighter as a soft laugh escapes you. It's good for pulling, you think as your lips move down with their kisses, bringing him out of the hug and cupping his face with gentle and caressing hands.

His arms are limp around your body, head laid in your hands looking up at you like some sort of deity. He is wide-eyed and filled with love, and you cannot hold out any longer as your lips find his, bringing comfort and assurance you don't have the capacity to right now speak aloud.

Moans fill the air as you kiss him senseless, a tongue in his mouth, his body below you shivering from the sensation. You can barely begin to fathom how long he's wanted this. Your own ache for his love had nearly been too much to bear after a week. How much had he held inside? Oh, now all you wanted was for him to let it out.

Wordlessly your hands go to his chest, fingers finding his nipples through the loose cotton fabric. You're worried momentarily that he wasn't built to feel anything there, but are quickly corrected when you feel his entire body tense under you, head tipping back against the headboard, a sharp gasp and moan bringing you to a stop out of sheer shock.

"Don't-" He stutters, and you pull your hands away in seconds, frightened you'd done something wrong.

"Don't tease me- please." Colin's voice is a mere whisper, strained and tinted with worry. You feel a sharp pain in your chest. You want to reach out and cups his face once more but- you hesitate.

"Never. I- I want to be with you more than anything. Colin, I need you more than anything..." You trail off, hanging your head and breaking eye contact as your head drops onto his chest, forehead grazing his shirt. You understood if he wanted to stop. The emotional exhaustion he'd been through this past hour alone had to have taken a toll. And you didn't exactly feel deserving of all his affection right now. Not when you knew about the pain he'd been enduring these last few months. God, why couldn't you have fallen for him sooner?

Lips touch your hairline, hands gliding up your sides, sending shivers up your spine as he whispers longingly, pulling you flush against his body.

"I need you. I need this." In an instant your lips are connected once more, separating as you whisper soft apologies that are drowned out by his own frantic reassurances. He tells you he's happy you're in love with him at all. He's happier than he's ever been in this moment. You fight every urge in your body not to push him into the downy pillows and take him right then and there.

You want him more than you've wanted anything. You want to give yourself to him wholly and make up for the heartache you unknowingly caused. You want him to feel your love with every fibre of his being, and you want to feel him with every atom of yours.

Clothes are off in seconds, strewn across the bed and the floor as a minute later Colin has his hands all over your body, kissing your chest, neck, and even down to the parts between your legs, spiking your arousal.

Your own eyes are glued to his figure. Lithe and pale, tinted blue with his thirium blood. Synthetic back muscles strain with every movement, and you're fixated on the little freckles that dot his body, few and far between. He's angelic in a stereotypical way, but you love it, and you love him, smiling at the way he laughs breathlessly when you tell him as much.

As he presses you to the bed, you find your hips trapped between his legs, his hips rutting and grinding against your body at an erratic pace. It's hard to ignore his... firmness when its pressed against your stomach, slick with self-lubrication and as hard as a rock. You thank whatever CyberLife employ was horny enough to design him with this length. All yours, you note with a smile, enjoying the thought of how exactly it'll feel once it's inside you.

Further up, his lips find your neck, attacking it with soft kisses and awe-filled mumbling that only makes the coil in your stomach worse. Adorably, his hands are pinning yours to the covers, fingers intertwined with yours. There's something sensitive and sweet about it, drawing your attention away from where he was positioning his tip at your entrance.

"Can-Can I...?" He asks gently, staring down into your eyes with sparking excitement what makes your heart catch. Your lips pull into a smile and you nod, quick to receive the tender kiss he lays on your lips.

You've never been entered so slowly and so gently before. Every inch he pauses to listen to your breathing and to scan your body state. With his soaked his cock is in whatever lube CyberLife built him with, along with this snail's pace of a movement, he fits inside you without any pain on your end, something he clearly takes as a victory as he pulls away, a bright smile on his face.

He's barely keeping it together, his body shuddering as he twitches inside you. He's likely never felt anything like this before, and you're honoured to be the first and hopefully last person to be giving him such mind-hazing pleasure. If only he were moving things along just a little quicker.

"You can move." You tell him, watching him falter nervously as you run your thumb along his, giving him your most confident smile.

He moves maybe only a few centimetres, but you're still left arching your back and moaning into him, Colin himself catching the noise in his throat as his eyes momentarily flutter closed.

"Louder," You whisper, your legs hooking around his waist, crossing at the ankles, your teeth nipping at his bottom lip.

"I don't care who hears us, be as loud as you want. I want to hear you.” You whisper into his mouth as he nods, lips trembling as he thrusts for the first time, pressing against your walls, pushing loud gasps and whines out from behind your lips as your head tips back.

"Y/N..." It's soft at first, barely a whisper into your shoulder as he hides his face in there once again, keeping a tight grip on your hands. Him pulling out leaves you feeling empty, but it's not long before he's back inside again, hot breath on your neck as his eyes flutter shut in pleasure.

"Y/N-I- Y/N!" His voice jumps an octave as you clench around him, your vision going out of focus momentarily as he briefly picks up the pace. Whether or not he was worried about coming early, or simply unable to keep the pace, you don't know, as he slows back down again, keeping a steady and strong pace against your insides, still trying to find that magic spot.

"I love you." He hisses into your neck, one hand breaking the tight grip with yours as it goes down to hook under your waist, lifting you up for a better angle to pump into you with. You're left choking on air with this new speed, knocking the breath out of you.

"I love you more." You manage to heave out, not a doubt in your mind that you're wrong. Colin seems to not share your opinion, the ghost of a smile on his lips as his eyes crack open, a warm and lustful gaze meeting your own.

"I love you most." It's such a silly argument to start, turning you both into giggling messes as you press more kisses to each other's faces. Your heart nearly bursts when you feel your nose brushing against his. You're beginning to wonder if he knows how happy he makes you, when he finally hits the right spot at the right angle, reducing you to moans and budding tears.

"I love-I- love... love you... hah... ha..." His words fail him, turning into pants and groans as his tip continues to brush your sweet spot, still so tentative even when he was pounding into you. Your free hand moves to tangle in his curls, holding his head tight as you lock your eyes with his.

There are no words between you two as you come, the waves crashing over you in two close surges, hitting you with a swear and a shout and Colin with a whimpering moan. His thrusts slowly come to a stop, but he doesn't pull out, even after he's finished. His head lays on your chest, warm breaths fanning across your skin as you both begin to cool down.

Tears likely wrought by the overstimulation fill his eyes as you pull him to your lips again. You're both quiet as you kiss, him gently pulling out of you and guiding you to the top of the bed where you gather up the blankets, slipping under them slowly before intertwining your bodies once more.

"I don't plan on moving." You mumble, pulling him close so that his head is tucked in the crook over your neck. Your arms are wrapped tight around each other, legs tangled up. You two aren't going to be getting up any time soon.

"I don't want you to." He admits, kissing a sensitive spot on your neck, drawing forth a soft giggle.

"I love you." He says again, and the words still send the same shivers and tingles up your spine now.

"I love you too." You whisper just as fervently, letting yourself begin to slip away in Colin's arms, his fingers carding through your hair and gentle whispers of affection lulling you to sleep.


	41. Coping (Daniel x Reader)

You hate it when you get like this.

Tears welling in your eyes as your chest heaves, gasping for a breath of air that just doesn't seem to come. Never reaching and filling your lungs the way you want it to. Your legs are pulled tight to your chest, arms wrapped around them in a death grip as you shudder and choke, doing your best to force down memories to hours ago.

You loved your mother. Truly, you did. You just wished that when she talked to you that she'd be more understanding of your issues. Your anxiety and your mental health. Every visit to her home seemed like a painful quest of an ordeal. Keep smiling, even when she's telling you you're overreacting. Keep smiling even when all the advice she's giving is more harmful than she could ever know.

You let it build like always, terrified fo the retribution that would come were you to speak up and defend yourself. It's a matter of keeping your head down and your mouth shut.

This is what always happened afterwards. You come home, break down and sit in your room alone for hours, trying to figure out what the hell was wrong with you.

It's different this time because you're not home alone.

Hearing your bedroom door open is like hearing the click of a door handle through another's ears. The sound is stilted and strange, and your vision is blurry as you look up from your curled form to find Daniel, your deviant housemate frozen on the spot, holding a book in his hand.

"You're upset." He says observantly, putting down the book on the nearby dresser as he steps forward.

You count yourself lucky. In the months since you'd found Daniel, runaway after his deviancy, he'd done his best to keep his distance. Yes, in recent days he'd been opening up more. A hand on your waist, letting you lean your head on his shoulder as you watch cars in the street go by. Small steps, that go a long way in your heart.

You untangle your limbs and wipe at your eyes, making no effort to hide your pain. He already knew, and he wasn't going to judge you. You'd already seen him on his worst nights.

"Yeah, I am." You hiccup as he takes a seat beside you, his hand gingerly finding it's way to your back. Daniel is still new to touch like this. Hesitant and anxious. You lean into it like a lifeline, missing the way his breath hitches as you do.

"Who did this?" His voice is concerned, yes, but it's layered with a level of anger as well. Spiteful and bubbling. He was never one for instant outbursts. Not without a buildup. You weren't about to do that to him, he'd been so calm and relaxed today.

"My-My mum. It's fine." You tell him with a sniffle, wiping your nose in a desperate attempt to seem less pathetic than you already did. His eyes have darkened, arm moving around your shoulders. You're shocked at that simple gesture alone, when his arm pulls you in tightly, your head resting against his shoulder. You briefly appreciate how nice and strong his chest feels.

"She's very lucky I wasn't there." He grumbles as you tuck your legs close, giggling a watery laugh as you brush away the last of your tears before settling into him.

"I know." You mumble, reaching out for his hand. He lets you take it, and you begin trailing patterns into the back of his hand slowly. It has a calming effect as you shut your eyes, listening to the sound of him breathing.

"I thought androids didn't need air." You mumble into his shirt, feeling him shiver as he thinks for a moment, before speaking.

"We don't breathe for, well, breathing. It helps circulate our thirium through our pump." You frown as he speaks, sounding a little unsure in himself. You didn't know that. It sounded strange, like the kind of fact someone would tell without knowing they were incorrect.

"How?" You ask, giggling weakly as you hear him pause, fingers rapping softly against your skin.

"I'm honestly not very sure." He answers honestly as you feel his hand pet your hair, causing all the muscles in your body to untense.

Your chest is lighter than before as you talk. Well, it's more that Daniel talks. Hesitantly and very awkwardly, just like his touches as he brings up anything he can to distract you from your sadness. Fingertips running circles in your skin, a voice that sounds just a little hoarser than most PL600's, giving him a comforting, husky edge. He's like a walking, talking therapy candle. Warm and scented. Comforting in every way.

Your body feels all the lighter against his, slumped and sleepy. You guess it's of no surprise that he has this effect in you, considering his original purpose. His arms still hold up close, like a physical barrier keeping all the cruel words of your mother at bay.

"I'm glad you're here." After 20 minutes of his ramblings, you mumble to him, a string of words that were harder to get out than you'd expected. His body tenses as he looks down, eyelids fluttering for a moment.

"Pardon?" It's so polite that you giggle, pressing your face into his chest with a smile, tears all dried up.

"I'm happy you're here with me. I'm happy that I found you, and that you stayed." You whisper into the fabric of his shirt, not missing the dig of his fingernails- gently finding a hold in your clothes and your skin.

"I'm lucky to have you." You pull away for a moment and look up at him through your lashes, finding a face flushed blue with thirium, blinking rapidly like the LED on his head. He's completely floored, and it's quite the sight.

Slow, like he pauses every second he inches forward, Daniel leans in and presses a kiss to your head. Specifically your hairline. And you know what a big step that is, considering what the man had been through. Willingly you lean into the affectionate act, and when that's over, you're back to burrowing in his arms, letting him pull the blankets from your bed around you.

Your heart is settled and for now, your mind is clear. Right now there's no fighting. No issues with your health. No mother, no stress. Right now it's just you, Daniel, and the sounds of the birds settling down for the night outside.

It's just the two of you. And for the moment, it's all you both need.


	42. You Are My Fire (Connor x Reader)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Friend on discord: What about the Backstree Boys cold open for B99 but with reader and Connor?  
> Me, opening up my compuer: Go on

Police work was a serious affair.

The job was wrought with danger. Drug busts, homicides and violence were just a general part of the work. Sure there were boring days of filing paperwork or staring at screen feeling your own brain melting. Or at least, whatever synthetic processor Connor had in place of a brain. Not that this detail meant he was any less bored when doing it.

This wasn't the case today. Indeed, Connor was positive that this day couldn't get any worse. Sitting on a seat, looking in through the one-way glass at the line up of suspects as he contemplates how close he was to snapping in this moment.

It was a murder. When was it not? Connor swears he's only ever assigned to murder cases. Bloody, violent murder cases. The woman beside him with red eyes does not help the case, mourning a loved one who was victim to the wrongdoings of one of the 5 men standing in the room, beyond the glass. It was a sombre mood.

Not that you seemed to pick up on that.

"Oookay can you give us any more details?" You legs swing as you lean back on the desk you're sitting on, a notebook with illegible scrawls of handwriting across the paper, looking up at the witness with an almost oblivious smile. The witness wiped her nose, blinking back more tears as she looked back into the room.

"He was singing this song. I think it was that 'I want it that way?'." She says, doubt lining her tone. Connor pauses for a moment to search the lyrics when your eyes suddenly light up, looking at the woman with a bright expression of recognition.

"Backstreet Boys! Hang on, I have an idea." Immediately Connor feels a whirl of distrust in his inner workings. An idea? This would be... well, he isn't sure how this would go. It makes him unnerved.

You walk over to the mic, a hop in your step as you bound over. He goes to stop you but knows he cannot. You are a force of nature, unhindered by words of logic. He cannot make an appeal here.

"Number one!" You call into a mic a little loudly, catching the persons attention as they stand a little straighter. A smile pulls onto your features. One he's seen many times when you've put salt in Gavin's coffee or stolen all of Chris's paperclips.

"Can you sing the first line of 'I Want It That Way'." You ask, watching the suspects face blanch for a moment. Oh.

Oh no, no, no.

"Uh, sure?" He says, clearing his throat as he looks to his fellow men, looking rather embarrassed. How- How did you- Why was he happy to-

"You are... my fire..." He starts a little nervously as your entire body lights like a flame, bouncing with restless energy as you leaned back into the mic. 

"Number 2, carry it on!" You shout as his eyes flicker around the room, before continuing.

"The one, desire..." He mumbles, voice a little shakier than the last as you grin wide, not even letting him finish before you're prompting the next one to continue the song, no hesitation. The witness stares on, dumbfounded, and Connor is powerless to stop it.

"Number three!" You shout, the man seamlessly continuing on with a strong voice that Connor admitted, was nice. No- he was not going to be pulled into this game.

"Believe me when I say." You point, despite the men being unable to see any of your frantic and excitable actions.

"Now four!" You bleed chaotic energies into the air, forcing down any uncomfortable airs as the men become more confident. Connor has no idea how you're doing this and spurring them into such action, but it seems to be getting them to open up.

"I want it that way." He says in a strong voice as you seemingly hold back a squeal of delight.

"Tell me why!" You shout suddenly, throwing back your head with a laugh as they continue into the chorus, no sign of stopping anytime soon.

"Ain't nothing but a mistake!" The men 'harmonize', sort of. The certainly all sing together using their voices, seemingly getting more into it by the second as a few make some moves, prompting Chris in the other room, watching over them to look through the glass, mouthing a confused 'what the fuck.'

"Tell me why!" You repeat as Chris looks back to the line up as the men continue. Poor Chris.

"Ain't nothing but a heartache!" You pump a fist into the air, before pointing at the man at the end of the line.

"Now number five!" You sing a little deeper as number five bellows out the next line without hesitation.

"I never wanna hear you say." He sings with a gruff voice, and Connor turns down his hearing as he watches you take a very deep breath.

"I want it that way!" All 6 sing as Connor stand with a yellow LED, cycling through every emotion he's ever felt in seconds. You seem pleased, taking your hand off the mic to look back at him, beaming. The witness is all but forgotten as Connor tries to place his emotions. Confused, amused, disappointed, impressed and confused again-

"That's him!" The victim shouted, pointing at the suspect with teary eyes as Connor suddenly remembers that yes, he's supposed to be a detective, solving a murder. "Number 5 killed my brother!"

"Oh." Your face drops, draining of blood as you looked back into the room at the murderer. Because you were a detective. Solving a murder. You look to the ground, and then back at the witness.

"Oh, shit" Your mortified whisper reaches Connors ears as he pinches the bridge of his nose, tapping into the eloquent language he'd recently been picking up from Hank.

"Jesus fucking Christ." Good god, how Connor wished he was stuck doing paperwork right now.


	43. Winter (Connor x Reader)

There was no weather in the world that could get you more excited than snowy weather. The warm winter fashion, where you could wrap up in jackets and hoodies and not worry about how you looked so long as you were warm. Hot drinks, chocolate or coffee and the weird new flavours and types that cafes came up with to try and outdo their opposition and draw in more customers by the year. There was the snowmen too, built hastily and fleetingly, half melted on the streets with sad stone eyes and askew orange noses.

And there was also, of course, your personal favourite winter pastime. Snowball fights. What better way to show you affection towards someone than to fling freezing cold, dripping wet snow into your friends' faces and clothes? Snowball fights were the best part of snowy weather to you, so when your friend and longtime crush, Connor took you out to the park to enjoy the previous night's heavy snowfall, what would happen was inevitable. 

Detroit was lucky to have such weather. Sure, you could be thinking about the global warming and rapidly changing weather, but for now, you just wanted to enjoy this wonderland, as the weeks edged you closer and closer to Christmas.

Connor's first, you note. Since his deviancy, you note his interest in this season, and it's traditions. With all your willingness to educate these strange human quirks and interests, you weren't surprised when he suggested a walk outside, even if it left Hank complaining about being alone for the lunch break.

He'd been talking about a case as you wandered through the more wooded section of the park. Distant sounds of cars had all but vanished, and apart from the odd runner dressed in dubiously appropriate clothes, you and Connor had mostly been alone. 

Keeping close as you fiddled with numb fingers, you let your eyes wander up to his beanie. Black and plain, covering that gorgeous head of hair you just ached to run your fingers through. The thought of it draws a blush to your cheeks as you look away, just as he begins to bring up some job of Hanks gone wrong.

Your eyes, in their desperate want for a new subject, fixed on a particularly good patch of snow. Untouched by mud or animals. Not too wet, not too hard and enough to compact into one perfect ball. An idea popped into your head.

"Hey, Connor?" You ask, eyes still lingering on the snow. You hear him pause mid-sentence before speaking.

"Yes?" He asks as you turn your head to look at his quirked brow, giving him a small smile. Something about his face made your insides twist in the loveliest way.

"Have you ever been in a snowball fight?" The question takes him off guard, and you watch as the circle on his head cycles through an array of dim and brightness, before settling again. His lips quirk up.

"I cannot say that I have." He says, before looking back at the path ahead, where there was an upcoming bridge and creek. He starts walking again, and you feel temptation tugging at your insides. Your eyes trail over to the mound. If he was moving away...

As silent as you can muster you tiptoe over to the snow, gathering as much as you can into your hands as Connor began to cross over one of the bridges. You stand up, beginning to compact your projectile when he turned around to see if you're following. His smile is wiped off his face.

"Y/N." He warns, putting his hands out in front of him, as you stand a mere 10 meters away, a roughly round snowball in your gloved hand. You took a step forward, and he, a step back.

"Detective Y/L/N... I'm an android built to fight." He begins with a good point, not taking his eyes off of the snowball. But you've done this before, and he hasn't. This is a risk you're willing to take. You pull your arm back as if you were about to throw a baseball. Connor tenses like he's about to be shot.

"Y/N! Don't you dare throw that snowba- Ah!" He yelped, taking cover behind a tree on the other side of the bridge.

"I can't believe you've done this!" He yells, and you're unable to stifle your giggles. You can see he's crouched down, and snorted as you gather more snow up in your hands, an idea popping into your head.

"Do you really want to do this?" He asks, a dangerous lilt to his voice that makes his heart flutter. Moving languidly towards the bush, you crush the snow into a small, precise sphere, the size of a cricket ball.

"I'm sorry! Baby come back!" You joke as you step onto the bridge, being careful not to make a lot of noise, in case you alert him.

"Don't say I didn't warn you." You hear him say a little quieter, making you purse your lips to hold in your laughter. You don't answer, for fear he would realize how close you actually were.

"Y/N?" Connor calls again, you step off the bridge, the tree he's using as cover is only a short 2 or 3 metres away, just a little more...

"Y/N?" Connors' voice is concerned now, and you quicken your pace, readying the snowball in your hands as you reach the corner where you saw him last. With a soft intake of breath, you raise up the snow and dart around, throwing the snow and listening as it connects with-

The tree?

You stand there for a moment, watching the snow broken and splattered start sliding down the bark. Connor was nowhere to be seen. Your brows furrow, as you look side to side, your stomach flipping in confusion.

"Wha-" You begin, just as an unpleasant, icy cold sensation slams into the back of your neck, cutting off your sentence and leaving the rest of your body shuddering. Ice slides down your spine, making your arch your back at the bitterness of the unpleasant feeling. You barely have time to swivel around before you're hit with two more.

"What the-Connor!" You screech as your so-called best-friend pelted you with snowballs, having taken cover behind a different tree while you weren't looking. Fuck, he was good at his job. Stumbling backwards you lift your hands to your face, trying to shield yourself.

"I didn't start this war Y/N, but I'll end it!" He declares, grabbing another handful of snow and flinging it at you. He wasn't even bothering with fine-tuning it into a ball shape. He was just chucking the raw snow! Amature. You keep stumbling backwards, unable to see where you'ere going and unable to beg for mercy. You can't speak, for your heaving giggles take over, hysterical laughter seemingly the only sound you're capable of making.

You keep tripping backwards, one arm in front of you, the other feeling around for something you could take cover behind. You're unable to keep track of where you're going and the freezing slush onslaught does nothing to help your sense of direction. Your feet keep pushing onward, bent on finding shelter, however in your determination you're unable to process the words Connor is shouting to you. 

As the onslaught seems to end, his tone grows more and more urgent by the second, and you assume it's because you're getting close to a bush you can hide behind. You take another step, to which Connor shouts again. Jesus, what was he getting so worked up about? The snow in your ears all but blocks your hearing, and you remove your arm just in time to see where your final step gets you.

Your heart stops in your chest as you realize far too late that there's nothing under your foot. Connor shouts out your name but is powerless to help, and you can only shriek in surprise as you fall, greeted by the arctic cold creek you had crossed over only moments ago. 

The water isn't deep enough to completely envelop you. It's only a small creek after all, but your thrashing about in reaction to the stinging cold was enough to soak the rest of your clothing, leaves you confused, drenched and shivering. Not to mention that the rocks were very sharp, and surprisingly, really fucking hurt to fall on.

After a few seconds, you realize you are in fact, not drowning in 6 inches of water. With warm cheeks and a muddled brain, you sit up in the river, climbing onto a rock where you curl in on yourself on instinct.

"Y/N! Y/N are you alright?!" You look up to see Connor on the bank of the creek, trying to rush across the rocks as quickly as he could to get to you. You can see in his hard eyes and blue tinted cheeks that's he's concerned, and despite it all, you find yourself blushing harder.

"I'm-I'm okay." You stutter through your lie, teeth chattering, as you looked very obviously not okay. Taking a few more reckless steps, Connor gets close enough to grab you, extending his hand and which your take eagerly, anxious to get out of the river. 

Your cheeks feel like a furnace, unlike the rest of your freezing body. Whether it's from the cold or from embarrassment, it doesn't change the fact that you feel ridiculous. You absolutely look ridiculous. Connor pulls you up and leads you out of the river, and once stood on the bank, you breathe a sigh of relief, shirking off your work coat. Hank and Fowler were sure to have opinions on this. And Gavin, too. Fuck...

"Are you sure you're alright? Your core temperature is declining, this isn't good..." As you squeeze the water from your overcoat, Connor fusses, beanie in one hand as the other strings through his hair in stress. As if that isn't enough to make you flustered, he starts pulling the beanie over your head.

"It's ok, I'm ok, I'm ok." You reassure him, but he continues to rant, the beanie pulled so far down it's over your eyes. You let out a small huff of breath. Impatient and embarrassed, you grab his hands in yours, stopping him from continuing.

"Connor. I'm. Fine." You assure him in a steely, staring him in the face. He blinks for a few seconds, thinking as his LED cycles once again. His face is still lined with worry, but there's something else there with that blue blush as his eyes study your face. Your breath hitches as you realize how close you're both standing. He seems to not have a single issue with it.

"We need to raise your temperature, or you'll get sick." He says, and before you can say another word, he's taking off his coat and wrapping it around your shoulders. Your coat is still wet, but now folded, and held under one of his arms. He stares at your form, outfitted in his clothes. He's left you more of an emotional mess than before.

"You won't get cold?" You ask, staring at his incredibly well-fitted shirt and pants, feeling like some awful drowned rat in comparison. His arm goes around your shoulder and you gasp softly, letting him lead you back to the path.

"I can turn off my sensors. We should return to the station." He says, and you note he doesn't remove his arm as you walk. He's warm and comfortable, so you don't complain, leaning into his touch eagerly as you walk back.

"Gavin's gonna laugh at me." You bemoan under your breath, feeling Connor hum from beside you as you imagine the douchebags face in your head.

"I'll make sure he won't." He says, squeezing your arm as you giggle, looking up at the bare, snow-coated trees. The sudden peaceful air of winter had fallen again, as you begin to walk back towards the main part of the park, cars becoming louder and voices more defined.

"What, are you gonna fucking punch him?" You snort sending Connor a side-eye as he lets out a soft laugh. You like the sound.

"Maybe." He says with a shrug, and you fight the smile that comes upon your face as you look back at the path ahead. Snowball fight, jokes, laughter. Connor really was changing, just like the seasons. Day by day, slowly and noticeable at points. Cold takes the earth, but warmer is his heart, his smile. Human, almost, you muse with a smile.

Yeah, you were looking forward to this winter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This is a rewrite an old oooold imagine of mine for a fandom I've long left and now dislike. It was removed, but I figured that having like 50+ unpublished imagines for old stuff is a waste. So I'm going through them and rewriting them all for DBH and my other fandoms. Hope you like it!


	44. Jump For My Love (RK900/Conan x Reader)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Another B99 prompt cos I'm weak lmao.

Your relationship with your partner Conan could be defined in so, so many ways and words. 

On record, both you and your fellow detective seemed the perfect team. Multiple drug busts, well over 50 successful arrests. You'd shut down networks of cyber criminals and been in more car chases and hold-ups than you had fingers. In the eyes of the paperwork filled put by you and your superiors, you two were exemplary detectives.

Reports didn't show the full extent of your shenanigans, however. 

No.

Not even close.

There was a reputation you had in the station, and whether it was good or bad was up for debate. Prominent was a good way of describing it. Loud was another. You once heard Connor describe your relationship with his brother as 'complicated.' Colin, his other sibling with a less eloquent 'manic'. You supposed they weren't wrong.

When it came down to it, you and Conan worked like you were one. But that didn't mean you were completely... functional.

You saw Conan as the left brain. He was logical, analytical. His stern grey eyes scrutinized every detail and brought attention to every flaw. No clue went unnoticed, and no fault went unrecorded. He fit the definition of a 'heartless robot' perfectly, even in his deviant state. And you prayed God would give mercy to whatever poor bastard got inbetween him and his work.

And you? You were the right brain. And you were... a lot.

A bit like a baseball hit at full speed, honestly. You'd travel too fast for many people to follow, both physically and mentally reaching levels most could not comprehend. You'd go off on tangents that only half of the time lead somewhere, buzzing with energy that sent you running, bouncing off the walls. If Conan didn't terrify the criminals, you sure would.

You think it must be hell for him. Conan liked everything to be done a certain way, but when it came to rules you just- couldn't. Criminals didn't follow rules, murderers certainly didn't. If they had a knack for it they wouldn't be called as such in the first place. You're sure he plans out your own death every time you sprint off on your own path, or let your mouth run with backtalk and inappropriate jokes at the worst of times. 

He was an agent of the law, and you were an agent of chaos herself. Sent down to undo his work and get on every single one of his nerves. That's how you thought he saw it.

And as painful as it might have been for both parties, it made for interesting work days, and even more interesting cases. Not that all of your esteemed coworkers and colleagues would agree.

"Where's your shithead partner? RK-Whatever the fuck." A voice that left your stomach dropping in disgust pulls you from your work. For once you'd leashed yourself to your desk, taking the role of filling in reports while Conan went to do whatever Conan did during his break. This selfless act of restraining your own rampant restlessness was all but dismissed by fate, though, as you looked over and met the disgusted gaze of Detective Gavin Reed. You feel the sigh in your chest building, fueling your antipathy before you'd even begun the conversation.

"900," You say in a dead tone, turning back to your work. You had better things to do. "Conan is 900, Connor is 800, Colin is 800-60." Your explanation is ignored as Gavin walks over, leaning against your desk with a casualness that opens a pit in your stomach. He raises an eyebrow.

"How do you know this shit?" You sigh, trying to keep your eyes on the terminal as you stop your typing, turning to him in one fluid motion, eyes holding him in the coldest gaze you can muster.

"They're my friends. And our coworkers." He knows this. He's just trying to rile you up. You watch the corner of his mouth curl up into an unattractive smirk, showing off some of his teeth as your eyes flicker between his face and your reports. You never thought you'd find yourself so eager to return to work.

"They're not your friends, Y/L/N, they're upgraded toasters. They don't feel emotion. They don't care." Oh like he would know a single thing about friendship. You elect not to bring up his unpleasantness, preferring to not start a fist fight in the middle of the bullpen. Instead, you just roll your eyes and continue to type.

"Yeah, they do." Your tongue clicks in irritation, and you offer nothing more, which seems to get on Gavin's nerves. He really doesn't seem to be letting up on this, huh? God forbid you had a good relationship with your partner.

"No, they don't." He responds, and you feel a flare of irritation in your stomach. Conan cared. Maybe he didn't say it a lot, or... ever, really- but he did care! He just wasn't so open about it! Turning on Gavin like a wild animal looking for blood, you snap.

"Conan cares! If I were to run and jump at him right now, he'd catch me in his arms." You spit your words angrily as Gavin's eyes gleam, amusement at the response he'd manage to draw from you. You're ready to rip into him a little more when he gaze moves, glancing at the entrance to the breakroom where, with a failing heart, you realize Conan has walked out of, coffee in hand and that usual, stern expression on his face. Gavin looks back at you with eyes like the devil.

"Do it, then." He says with an expectant grin. And your mind goes to every time Conan's gotten annoyed. Snapped at you about rules, chided you over failed missions and, in general, hated your presence at every free moment, despite your best and most honest attempts at making him like you.

So there's a moment of hesitation. Just one, a millisecond is all. You think for a moment that this is a bad idea. You're at work. You can't just throw yourself at Conan because Gavin said something that got under your skin. You can't risk making anyone pissed at you again.

But then you think about how good it would feel to prove his dumb ass wrong. Once and for all. And prove to yourself that Conan does feel some sort of positive emotion towards you. Anything. Literally anything at all.

And it's like time speeds back up again, and you're up from your chair, charging towards your unknowing target, with the fading confidence of a man falling from a great height.

"Conan! Catch!" Two words, half-caught in your throat are all the warning you give as you're about halfway there. Like the high tech android he is, Conan is able to respond near instantly, swivelling around to meet you. And like the deviant he is also, you see a swift and uncharacteristic panic in his expression that only you and your nightmare antics could ever instil.

"I'm holding Hanks coffee no-" Conan shouts sternly as your feet push off the ground, and you feel fear strike your heart as you wonder if getting this coffee to Hank and completing his task is more important than your safety. As soon as those thoughts enter your mind, they're gone. Forced out by the sound of shattering ceramic, and a pair of sturdy arms around your back and under your knees.

"You caught me!" Your voice gives away your shock, wavering a little as look down at your body. You're impressed at the height you reached, enough that Conan had managed to catch you not dissimilar to the way a groom would catch his-

You cut that thought off before you can finish it cheeks warm as you look and find your face nose to nose with his, grey eyes staring into and past your soul with great disdain. You feel your heart stutter. He actually caught you. He was holding you.

"Yes. Could you please get off me now?" Conan speaks calmly for a man who had so suddenly been ambushed so suddenly. In your giddy joy at the notion of coming before Conan's mission, you pay the cold tone no mind, letting your arms unwrap from the position around his neck so he could lower you to the ground, the eyes of the bullpen upon you.

Everyone was watching, and everyone had seen. Conan had caught you. No hesitation, no second guessing. You were a priority. You became the mission. And yeah, maybe coming before a cup of coffee was kind of a sad thing to be proud of. But it was a start.

"Okay, so, in my defence, I was proving Gavin wrong and defending your honour." You say as your feet gently land on the ground, your hands resting against his chest. He hasn't pushed you away or said anything at your lingering touch which is very weird. Only sighing lightly in response as you look up at his face, a glint in your eye. You knew Gavin was watching still. So- Maybe... you... you could...

"Thank you for the help, though!" You chirped, trying to sound as bright and nonchalant as you could as you step up on your toes to kiss the taller man on the cheek. He tenses for a second, before relaxing under your hand. When you pull back after the millisecond your lips were on his skin, you find his eyes a little wider. He's expressive. He looks a little more human. And it makes you smile.

"See!" You turn to Gavin, who's still leaning against your desk. His arms are crossed, and his whole body is turned inwards with displeasure. It brings an even brighter smile to your face and a warmth to your heart. Your walk back to your desk can only be described as a saunter, slow and pompous.

"I told you he cares." Smugness leaks into every crevice of your words, painting pain onto Gavin's features as he looks on, before snorting and shaking his head.

"Whatever, he's programmed to keep humans safe." Oh, fuck no. He was not getting away with losing that easy. Not when after everything you'd just done with Conan.

Oh.

Oh god, what had you just done with Conan?

Your step hesitates for a second as you consider turning around and apologizing profusely for what was a major invasion of space. The last thing you wanted was to get on his bad side. But that would mean doing it in public again, where the eyes of the bullpen were still on you. Something deep and meaningful like that- it would only make matters worse. Jesus Christ, you should have picked another time and place for this.

No. That could be a discussion and an apology for another day. For now, you had an asshole to gloat to. And a bad decision to begin repressing and ignore.

"Oh no, you don't get to sit there and-" You begin arguing with Gavin, a fire in your words, bellowed by restless anxiety, as you leave Conan behind, still going through the matters of processing what the fuck just happened. 

Staring, blinking and shocked. But... happy. Weirdly, uncomfortably happy, he notes as he looks to the spilt coffee and shards of mug on the floor, fingers ghosting his cheek where you'd laid such a bold and... nice, show of affection. Nice, he thinks again, as he gets to work clearing up the mess. Nice, he thinks as halfway through you offer to help, done with showing off to Gavin.

Nice, he thinks. As he overthinks your impulsive actions over and over again, with a sort of... fond amusement that, unbeknownst to you is there. Under all the sighing, and the sternness and his cold, inherent nature. Under it all, that fondness there. Like it always has been.

Of course, unbeknownst to you.


	45. Nice (Markus x Trans Male Reader)

Post-revolution, it was difficult for Markus to find moments of peace and quiet. As the leader and representative of a whole people, all with different ideals and morals, it was difficult to find free time between the infighting and diplomacy. And that didn't even cover his political trips. Speaking to the president, arguing about his own autonomy and humanity to leaders of distant countries. Paired with the fact he could barely keep conflict from happening inside his own council of advisors, Markus was a man often strapped for time.

So it was moments like these that he cherished. Peace walking the streets and the parks of Detroit, keeping his face half hidden from prying eyes who may recognise him from the billions of interviews, new reports and etcetera, etcetera...

It's not exactly the life that the artist wanted to lead, but it's a responsibility he's willing to take on, for his people. So long as he gets his time to take off the mantle of leadership, and walk the streets a normal man.

Streets used in the broadest of terms, of course, he thinks with a smile as he walks through the gates into the park he used to walk nearly every week. Back when he still lived with Carl, when he wasn't the person he was now.

Back then he didn't notice the little things. What birds preferred which trees to nest in, what days that the pond allowed people to wade. Things that made this park unique

But there was one thing he'd always noticed. Every time he came through, every 8-9am trip to buy paints. Every single little excursion, over the course of the near 2 years he'd lived with Carl, Markus had noticed a man.

They'd never talked because Markus' programming wouldn't let him. He never approached, he never really even took the time to get to know the man more than a few things he'd picked up on, the few times he'd managed to get a good look.

The first thing he knew was that the man was an artist. Every morning, to what he suspected was most afternoons and even nights, the man sat there at a table and a bench. A drawing tablet, along with a number of other digital and traditional tools. Hunched over, with his back to the sun, drawing and looking and smiling. It was something that Markus, an artist himself, could appreciate.

The second thing knew was that the man is transgender. Something he learned over the long passage of time, watching him draw and improve his art. With the quick sketches gaining colour that he saw as he walked by, so changed the man. Glowing with happiness as his body changed for the better, creating definition in his face and even sprouting a few beard hairs on his chin, now trimmed and well kept. He knew these things because they were out in the open. Unhidden, and unashamed, for really anyone who was willing to pay attention to see.

But there was so much more that he didn't know. He didn't know his name, he didn't know what he was drawing for. He didn't know the most generic things, and as of his recent deviancy, he found that this fact was beginning to... bother him.

He'd been a constant in Markus' short life without even knowing it. And the thought of that was strange. Off, even. So when Markus is walking by, and he finds his eyes on the man again, he feels a change. Once more he's drawing in the park with a gentle smile on his face like nothing has changed. Like Markus' whole world hasn't changed since he last saw him. He can't help but wonder if his had changed too.

Suddenly he's walking his way. And Markus isn't normally one for panic. That was never the case. But this coil in his stomach, the urge to halt his steps. It's a new feeling. An unfamiliar and different one. And it's one he realizes, with slight embarrassment, is one of mortified fear.

Fear, from walking towards a man. Not when he stared down 50 odd gunmen. Twice. Not when he was half destroyed in a junkyard filled with corpses. Not when he was centimetres from death, over and over again. No, fear, because he was walking towards a man with no real plan for how he was going to introduce himself or even get the conversation going.

Luckily, or unluckily (depending on how one saw it), he didn't have to. For when he's only a few paces away, he hears a voice fill his ears, catching the attention of his auditory processors.

"From android worker to leader of a rebellion, to leader of a whole free people. All in under a week. You got quite the upgrade, no pun intended." Eyes momentarily fix on him as he approaches, and Markus realizes with dawning shock, that you are speaking to him.

Your voice is different to how he expected. Not bad, no. It actually suits you quite well. It's simply different. New. Something else he could add to the fact list. Oh- no, that sounded creepy. Just say something else.

"You know me?" Good enough. And unsurprisingly, also. Markus keeps still as you look up from your sketchbook, across the table, meeting his eyes. They were a nice colour, he noted. Made nicer by your welcoming smile.

"Sorta? You used to walk by here, like, every day. Also you're on the news. A lot." The casuality of your tone helps him relax just a little as he keeps quiet, watching you tap your graphite pencil upon the yellow-white paper, wood dust falling from it's recently sharpened tip.

"I'm Y/N." A name. 2 whole years of 'the man' and now he had a name. A really nice one, he thought. He also thought that he had to stop describing things about you as 'nice' and try a little harder with the descriptors. It was beside the point. You were staring at him expectantly, and he was struggling to find any answer or words he could give.

"Markus, as you uh- probably guessed. Well, did guess." Why was this so difficult? Why did this feel different to talking to Josh or North? Was it because you were a human? It was frustrating regardless.

"What do you need?" Need? Oh. He supposed that was the way it seemed. A stranger -sort of- walking up out of the blue? You'd probably seen that before, with people looking for spare change or the time. That's not what Markus needs right now.

"I... I think I needed some familiarity. And... a change." It's probably one of the most cryptic things he's ever said, and he feels kind of stupid for it. Standing still and rubbing his neck awkwardly, like he'd been put on pause. He cannot summon the words that describe the relief he feels when your smile only grows at his silly words.

"I imagine things are pretty busy at the moment." You say, and Markus manages a small chuckle.

"Yeah..." That wasn't even the half of it. But he didn't come here to speak of that. He just came here to... speak. Your hand waves to the free seat in front of you, as you give him a nod.

"C'mon, sit." Markus does so, finding it strange to think that he'd never really taken the time to sit in the park beforehand. His fingers link with each other, hands laying on the table as he tries to concentrate on the birdsong, and the warmth of the sun beating down upon you. Anything apart from your face, which was focused and.. attractive, staring down at your work.

"You know they tell me you're an artist." Again, you address him and again, Markus is surprised, taken aback that you know that. He raises a brow.

"They?" You look up again and shrug, swirling your pencil as you spoke.

"Y'know, the news. People on the streets. Everyone who isn't living under a rock. You're kind of like a celebrity." Celebrity. The word creates a churning sensation down near his Thirium pump, like he's run out of Thirium. It's not a nice feeling.

"I'm... not sure how to respond to that." He admits. It wasn't great, but it wasn't necessarily bad. It's what he should have expected, to be honest. Being put up on a pedestal by so many, as he was. Millions of eyes just watching, waiting for him to trip and fall off.

"I don't think I would know how to either." You say, and it brings him some level of peace, his eyes drawn to the paper under you.

A quick scan is all it takes to learn the details. What graphite, what paper, what it was showing. Details, details. They're nice but not what he wants. It's the content itself that Markus finds interesting. Particularly the two girls in action poses, drawn interacting throughout a series of boxes and scenes. 

"You draw comics?" Markus is embarrassed to say he's impressed. A painting he can do. Big, wide paintings showing huge pictures that can let out his deepest emotions, the newer interpretations of life. But comics... it's hard to tell a story like that. To fit so much into such a small space, along with a story too. He tells tales through the abstract, and he does it well. But something like this? He can find a true appreciation for it and the skill that goes into it.

"I do, yes." You smile, proudness seeping into your tone. Proudness well earned, he thinks. Your style is enchanting, eye-catching. Managing to take the realistic and interpret it in a fun, colourful way.

"Is there a big series or is it little pieces?" He swears he sees a glint in your eye as you look down at your work, turning the notebook around and pushing it towards him so he can get a better look.

"Big series," You say, drawing one more hard line down the page, perfectly placed despite being upside down before looking back up with a smile.

"It's called Vantage." Vantage. It sounded like the sort of things teenagers read. Also something that he... might enjoy. Not that he'd tell anyone else that.

"Vantage? What's it about?" Markus doesn't do well to show the excitement in his voice, but you can tell the interest is there all the same. You lean on your hand, and with the other, tap the paper where the two female characters talk, perched on a rooftop with their legs dangling.

"Superheroes who are also androids, but nobody can tell. It's set here, in Detroit." Androids. He blinks for a second, staring at the page. Just as you'd said, he sees the circle on the side of one characters head. A character that is talking, and laughing, and happy.

"That... honestly sounds really cool." He speaks softly, but his smile gives him away. It's such a small thing, but it tells him a lot. That you like androids. That you don't mind him being an android (although he supposes that was a given what with your friendliness from the start). Seeing it confirmed, and even displayed in your work is... nice.

Shit, he's using that word again.

"Thank you!" You say with a soft laugh, taking you drawing back and laying it to the side. Markus looks at the progress one last time, a spike of guilt forming in his circuits.

"I'm not interrupting you, am I?" He worries for a moment, but it's with a wave of your hand that you brush it all off, shrugging with a smile.

"Nah. I needed a break anyway." You stretch, and Markus can hear cracks in your back and your neck. Wow, you really weren't kidding. Once finished, you speak up again.

"What do you draw?" You were interested in that? He supposed that made sense. Everyone had questions for him these days, it's no surprise you did too. You were certainly worlds more polite than those reporters, though.

"Uh... emotional pieces, really." He says, thinking for a moment about how he could explain it. He has no time as your eyes light up suddenly with recognition, your back straightening just a bit.

"You lived with Carl Manfred, right?" There's a beat, where Markus realizes with appreciation that you used the word lived. Lived, instead of owned. With Carl. 

Carl. The name echoes in his ears, and as quick as the happiness is there, it's suddenlt gone.

"Uh, yes. You know- knew Carl?" The past tense is strange, and he doesn't like it. But it's hardly something he can change. Even he, the 'robo-jesus' can't bring people back to life. As much as he may have liked to.

"Yeah, we studied him all the time in art school. He talked in one of our lectures once," He notices your pen falter for a moment, as your eyes trail to his face. It's a look that Markus recognizes as sympathy.

"He was... cool. And nice." Nice. That word again. Yes, Carl was nice. More than nice. Kind, and clever and... so, so much. Markus holds in a heavy sigh.

"The worlds a different place without him." More different than it had ever been. More alone. He doesn't want to start wallowing in sadness, though. Not with you there. He feels lucky when you jump to pick up the mood again, bringing a smile to his face.

"Better though, now that you're around." You flash him a smile and Markus feels- he feels a blush? Very slightly, rising on his cheeks. That was a very kind thing to say. And bold, he notes as he clears his throat rather unnecessarily.

"So uh, this comic. What's- what's it about." He asks, quickly changing the subject. You let out another short laugh as you look to your sketchbook, picking it up to quickly flick through.

"Superheroes." You repeat, and he fights the urge to roll his eyes, not wanting to risk coming off as too impolite.

"No, I mean, as a whole." You place the nearly full sketchbook back on the table, sending him a look as you shook your head.

"You really want me to explain the plot? It's kinda dumb." You try to brush it off, but Markus was built for human interaction. And he knew when they were saying the opposite of what they met. And you most certainly wanted to tell him about this cool comic.

"I have time, and... spending it with you seems like a good use." It's your turn to look shocked, blinking as you watch him closely, a slow smile beginning to break on your face.

"You are very lucky you're cute." You laugh, pushing away your equipment as you steeple your fingers, thinking for a moment as he pretends you didn't just possibly maybe flirt with him.

"Okay, where to begin... well, there's this girl named Chevy, and she meets this android named Esther-" As you begin to talk, Markus lets himself relax. Lets his shoulders drop, and his thoughts wind down to a low buzz. Markus lets the plot- your words, wash over him as he takes a moment for himself, where he can just be one artist talking to another. No responsibilities, no expectations, no stress.

Just peace and quiet. Just something... nice.


	46. For You (Connor x Reader)

The sandwich shop down the street was only a few hundred metres away. Down from the police station and across the road right at the street corner. Half hidden, and always overcrowded with people working to get their food in the minuscule break they're given to rest their minds, before throwing themselves back into their soul-crushing work.

At the very most, the time it would take for someone to walk down, get in line, wait for their sandwich and walk back was 20 minutes. 25 maybe, if one were to take consideration the traffic and the rain.

It had been 45 minutes since you had left on your lunch break, and Connor was beginning to get worried.

It was silly. Irrational. You were a grown human, capable of looking after yourself and functioning on your own. You wouldn't have gotten so far as a detective if you weren't. Every logical facet in his synthetic mind was telling him that he should continue on with collecting evidence to file away and then go back to filling in reports on his most recent case.

But it had been nearly 46 minutes now since you'd walked the short trip down the road to get food for you and Hank. And Connor could already feel anxiety prickling at his stomach.

Well. At something. He doesn't have a stomach. He doesn't have any organs or parts that could be defined by human terms. Especially in reference to emotions. Because they affect his body. He knows they do, every time you're late to work or at risk on a case. Anxiety, ever there. Even worse when you're both simply talking.

He's so bad at the talking. His social relations programming wasn't made as smoothly as he once may have believed, and there were no clearer moments than when you two were talking. Language- it changed and developed over time. It changed in seconds depending on the tone of which someone used their words. You could sit there and talk earnestly about anything and everything, and he'd try to match that. Sometimes it would turn out fine. Smooth, even. But he'd fumble some words, stumble and retract statements when the code in his head came up with something better. At times he'd even blank out. 

Like earlier today when you suggested he come with you to get food.

"I don't eat." He'd said bluntly, looking up briefly from his report to glance your way. Work seemed like the priority, and he didn't want to waste time, even if it was you. 

When Connor looked into your eyes, he proceeded to regret everything from his existence to now. Your face fell, an expression visible for only seconds. But it was enough to make him feel like a hole had open up inside him. Hank sighed loudly from behind his desk but didn't say anything else. And by the time Connor had come up with a good way to save the situation, you'd recovered.

"Oh, okay. Well, I'm gonna go," You began, waving as the overwhelming urge to follow you hit Connor like a train. His legs were like lead, however, and the signals to stand were going to the wrong places, making his fingers twitch and holding words at the tip of his tongue.

"Back in like 10? Bye!" And like that you were just gone, leaving him staring at the space you vacated, the words only now letting loose from his lips. Like his entire brain had just lagged out.

"I would... still like to come along, however." Connor sighed, more to himself than anything. He was sure the situation could get no worse when Hank snorted, giving him a look over the terminal.

"Real smooth." His thirium pump, which he was sure had stopped working once you'd started speaking, pumped blue blood to his cheeks as he looked back to his work, unable to concentrate or think straight any longer.

That had been 48 minutes ago. And you were still gone.

Like a hook has grabbed his power core, and is tugging at it at intermittent intervals. That's what he feels like now, looking to the precinct entrance for the 5th time that minute. Insides aching to see you come in through the front doors, safe and sound.

The counter hits 53 minutes when his wish is granted. Well, half granted at least.

You come back. But you're nowhere near okay. Soaked to the bone. Your clothes cling to you, darkened and sopping. Hait sticks to your head, devoid of a hat and Connor wonders why exactly you didn't take a raincoat. In your hands is your sandwich, wrapped in soaked paper, soggy and unappetizing. By the time you reach the bullpen, Connor is up on his feet.

"Hey- I learned that it is, uh, raining outside." You laugh, but it's interrupted by a cough as Connor walks over, careful not to slip on the copious amounts of water you were dripping in a puddle onto the linoleum floor.

A scan tells him your body temperature is 30 degrees Celsius. 7 less than it should be. The water has soaked through all of your clothes, and you'd likely need spares from in the locker rooms. If you were not warmed up soon, the chances of you getting sick were definite. And he was not about to let that happen.

"Breakroom. Now." You're not fool enough to try and argue with him when he's like this. Maybe it's the frustration that this had happened or the fact that he'd been building up anxious tension over the past hour of your absence, but something in his tone gets you moving. And Connor finds himself liking that.

You sit yourself down on the chair, and without another word Connor is gone, coming back in a record minute and a half with a towel and some spare clothes.

"Where is your raincoat?" He asked, handing you the towel. You start rubbing down your face, shrugging sheepishly as he moved behind you to turn on the heater. His arm brushes against you, and water seeps into his sleeve. It doesn't bother him, fueling his worry if anything.

"I, uh. Forgot it..." You tug the towel down your face, giving him a sheepish smile. Your hairline was drier, as was the rest of your hair sticks around your dry face. Your cheeks are flushed from the cold, and Connor feels himself lose connection for a moment as he looks down at you, slowly straightening as he looks away.

Suddenly the rest of the room is just so interesting. The marble counter, the coffee machine in the corner, the high ceiling, the clean floor, your wet hair-

"I might go get changed in the bathroom." You say, running the towel through your hair, distracting him completely again. He feels himself blacking out like before, blanking on the words to say. You look really good like this. And he hates that he thinks that because he's worried for your health. You could get sick, and then you wouldn't be able to come into work and he wouldn't be able to see you for at least a week. That simply wasn't on.

Connor doesn't say a word as his hands rest on your shoulders, pushing you back down into your seat as you land with a heavy exhale. Your body is cold under his fingers, and he doesn't like it, letting his grip stay as he tries to will some of his warmth into you. It's when you look up and meet his eyes that he feels his thirium pump catch.

"Connor?" You sound confused, watching and inspecting his face for changes in emotion or anything that could give his motives away. He tries to keep a neutral expression, even with the blue beginning to stain his cheeks.

"You need to be sitting down." He tries to be stern, but it's hard when he realizes he can feel the skin of your shoulders through your damp shirt, cold and clammy. He knows that it's an awful feeling and that he should let go, but he doesn't.

"Connor-" You begin, but he's quickly interrupting with a justification, hoping you won't notice his reluctance to let you go. You're getting warmer, and the colour is coming back to your face which he takes as a good sign.

"I don't want you slipping on the floor," He starts, watching your eyes narrow as he feels hot under your gaze. He wasn't going to shut down, not this time. Servos whir, and inside his head he forces his programming to work overtime, and for once in these god damn interactions, actually do the thing he wants.

It doesn't work.

"With all the water you've tracked you've already put other people at risk. Along with what's leftover in your shoes, and the tile and linoleum floors of the-" Icy cold hands on his cheeks interrupt his infodump, as the tiredness in your eyes gives way to irritable exhaustion. Connor shuts up.

"Just let me get changed!" You sigh, and Connor pretends not to feel the brush of your fingertips and thumbs on his skin as he nods, conceding to your request. You remove your hands from his face, and though Connor misses your touch he steps back, giving you your space. That only lasts a few seconds, however.

"Just let me come with you." He says, a hand around your arm as he helps you to your feet. A literal puddle is left behind in the space in the chair, and Connor makes a note to inform the cleaner. When he looks back at you, he finds his thoughts occupied by something completely different.

"To get changed?" The hint of a smile hides on your lips and you hold back a laugh as he realizes with a heavy blush what he'd just said. Or rather, implied.

"I- No- I only meant." He trips over his words desperately as you start to giggle. He wished he'd kept his mouth shut. Shutting down was better than this. This was awful, this was a travesty. He could feel his internal power core melting inside him. He was going to die, all because of this embarrassment.

"No, you're right. Maybe I need the help." You speak again, and Connor is only half sure you're teasing, feeling heat build from his thirium regulator under his shirt collar as your fingers lightly brush his arm, grabbing the ball of clothes on the table. He opens his mouth, but no words come out. His programming was not prepared for this. 

When you look back up you find him rigid and awkward, your lips pursing in clear amusement as you look him up and down, shaking your head. How did you manage to be so enchanting while looking like a drowned rat? Oh. Oh, he really shouldn't say that aloud.

"You're too cute," You snort, looking at the wet towel you'd left on the table, before looking back to him. "But seriously, would it be okay for you to get me another towel?"

A chance to get out of this situation? Absolutely. Connor nods stiffly, trying what is most definitely an awkward smile as you beam. He's ready to dart off when your free hand grabs his sleeve and pulls him close, pressing your lips to his cheek.

Your lips are freezing against his overheated skin, sharp and- everything. Your tight grip on his clothes makes him swallow, and a feeling forms in his 'stomach'. He thinks- yes, this was butterflies. Or something of the sort. All the systems in his body stutter as, for a millisecond, Connor is the happiest he has ever been.

And then it's over, and you've pulled away, walking out of the breakroom while waving a bright and happy goodbye. Still so ethereal, despite being soaked to the bone.

"Thanks, Connor! You're a star!" You call, as he raises a hand in response, stunned into absolute silence. Speechless as you turn the corner and are gone.

"Of course." He says aloud, bringing a hand up to rub the back of his neck as he looks to the ground, thinking up the path to take to get to the closest towel. With a soft sigh and a deep blush he mumbles to himself, words soundless to all.

"Anything for you."


	47. Party (RK900/Conan x Reader)

There was a lot of bullshit that came with being a police officer. Awful hours, trauma, injury and risk of death were all part of the deal. You hardly had enough time to go out and socialize, and often spent nights up late working to find who dealt red ice to who and who stabbed who. It's hardly a life of glamour, and not at all as fun as they make it out to be in the movies.

But the worst thing- the stupidest of all the stupid things that came with being a police officer, nothing was stupider to you than the precinct-wide, annual mid-year party.

Originally focused around the chance for the more annoying of your coworkers to show off wealth and success with nice clothes and commendations, over these recent years the objective had changed. No- worsened. Worsened, in your opinion.

Dates. Pretty dates, rich dates, dates way out of everyone's league. The whole thing seemed to have become a matter of status. Are you married, faithful, dating, single? And oh god, did you not want to be single. Because of some of your co-workers? They were far from the chivalrous and respectful people you'd like them to be. Especially around such copious amounts of alcohol.

Every year you had to find someone to drag along, and every year you managed to fly under the radar. But since last year things had changed. You'd had some new additions, and you yourself a new partner. You weren't the newbie anymore. And you'd taken it upon yourself to inform your partner of the upcoming hell-scepade to come.

Such a shame he didn't seem to appreciate it.

"I'm not going." The strict monotone voice of RK900- better known as Conan, fired hostile spikes of discomfort in your direction. Spikes you all but ignored.

Conan had been working at his desk quietly until you'd dropped by on your lunch break, a can of soda in your hand and a warning on your lips. It was a week until the party, and while you had managed to get a date, you were fairly sure your awfully blunt and seemingly unempathetic android partner had not. 

With the glare he was sending you, it was a fair assumption to make.

"Conan, c'monnn." You whined, placing a hand on his chair to spin him around. Conan lets you, though you do notice his shoulders drop as he sighs in irritation, addressing you with a heavy tone.

"I have no one to 'get-together' with. It would be frivolous and silly." You almost listen to him and walk off to let him be. But then you remember how awful it had been last year, and the year before. And how you were basically looking down at one of 2 or 3 safety nets you had in that situation. You were not about to let that go.

"I can find you a date. Easy." You say, watching his eyebrow pop up. For a second you swear you can see some interest in his grey eyes before he's looking around the room again, anywhere but your grinning face.

"From where?" Oh, you had an answer for that. But not one he was going to like.

"Right here baby! Look around!" You throw out your arms, careful not to spill your drink can as Conan gives a look not unlike some criminals would before engaging in a fight. He waits for you to follow up with a joke as always, and when you don't you only see his expression get worse.

"You're serious?" He asks, as you clear some space on his desk before hopping up, still smiling like a madman.

"Absolutely. Let's go through the options."

"I don't-" Conan has no chance to interrupt before you begin. Surveying the bullpen like a wildlife expert, going over man and woman alike, starting with the desk nearest.

"Let me have fun! Okay, so Hank is like your dad so no. Connor is your brother so extra no." You cross them off quickly as Conan withers at the suggestions, happy for you to cut those options off.

"Thank you for those observations." You want to praise him for using sarcasm in the correct situation for the first time when your eyes catch a familiar shape walking towards the breakroom. An aw

"You're we- Ohhh, how about Gav-" You're cut off so quickly Conan may as well had slapped you. If the previous people made him wither, the simple notion of Gavin as his date seemed to kill the man before you'd even finished speaking his name.

"Absolutely not. I'd rather deactivate." You hope he knows you're just teasing, watching to make sure Gavin is out of earshot before turning to Conan and giving him a bright, forced smile.

"Aww c'mon Conan. Don't you want to be with a big, strong man who likes being dismissive and aggressive to people who've done literally nothing wrong?" Your tone is playful and almost singsong, as Conan follows your gaze just in time to see Gavin walk into the break room. His lip curls into disgust.

"He pulled a gun on Connor." He mumbles, and it's morbidly laughable how that barely scratched the surface.

"Twice," You tip your can at him, taking on a more serious tone. "He pulled a gun on Connor twice. And attacked him." The switch of Conan's LED from blue to red was like whiplash, and the aura of pure, threatening anger that built around him didn't help the shock either.

"I do not understand how he has not been... relieved from work." Force enters Conan's tone as naturally as you'd seen him use it on the field. It's scary, but it's momentary. A brief lapse, before he calms back down, flexing his fingers as he rested them on his rather unnecessary keyboard. You dropped your can, half empty to the desk as you tipped your head back with a dry laugh.

"Fowler doesn't give a shit! No one in this stupid fucking precinct gives a shit! They got guns! Who cares about HR! Fuck- can we still call it HR? H&AR? Human-Android- HAR-" Conan cuts off your ramblings before they get any stupider. Though not as aggressively this time.

"You and Hank do." You stop in your tracks, blinking your eyes a few times before switching your view from the ceiling to his face. What?

"Do what?" You ask, catching his eyes staring at you for a moment, before going back to the screen.

"Care." He says, and you blink again. Care. Huh.

Well, yeah. He was your partner. And your friend. Of course you cared. Was that- was that weird to him?

Did he care about you?  
You flush out these sudden, unwelcome thoughts with a quick shot of soda, the carbonation hitting your throat hard. Jesus, why did you even drink this crappy stuff?

 

"Hank and I do. And Chris. Chris is valid. Ohhh you should go with Chris!" You sidetrack, before your voice picked up, getting louder with excitement. Conan tries to shush you, but it's to no avail as your sentence carries, catching the ears and attention of your surrounding police officers.

"What?" Chris calls from across the bullpen as you swivel your head around, craning to get a good look at Chris, who you considered to be one of your better coworkers. From this distance you can see he's confused, a hand half raised. He was clearly addressing you.

"What?" You call back, hearing Conan heave another weighted sigh. In the corner of your eye, you swear you see his head drop. Just a little.

"I heard my name?" He asks, as your mouth forms an 'O' as you nod, despite Conan's attempts to convince you not to. Was he sinking into his chair? No. Must be a trick of the light.

"I said that you're valid Chris!" You yell, and it clearly does not reach him. Around you, some people groan, but it's fine. You've been louder, and they're just being babies.

"I'm what?" He asks, cupping a hand over his ear as you try to lift yourself up a little, straightening your back like that will at all help.

"You can simply walk over to Officer Miller instead of shouting like some-!" You ignore Conan and cup your own hands around your mouth, calling to Miller again.

"You're valid!" Even from over here you still see the utter confusion on Christopher's face. It's incredibly amusing, along with the sight of Conan in the corner of your eye bringing his thumb and forefinger to pinch his temple.

"Thank you?!" Chris answers, and you give him a thumbs up before turning back to Conan, who looks deeply unimpressed.

"See, Chris is nice. Chris has a kid. Date Chris." You say brightly, keeping your stare with Conan as you down the rest of your can. Conan's jaw sets.

"I'm alright, thank you." He turns back to his computer, and you feel yourself deflate. Did he not realize how important this was? How people would talk behind his back if he didn't show up? Or maybe he just didn't care. He was quite good at pretending he didn't, at least. With a soft sigh, you swing your leg out, tapping your toe against his leg.

"Date someone Conan. You don't even have to like them, just take them to the dance. That way people can see you're at least trying to make an effort." Conan looks at you out of the corner of his eye, and for a second- just a second, you see a flicker in his grey eyes. Like he's considering something. And then it's gone.

"Who are you taking then?" He's changing the subject again, but you allow it, looking over to the empty desk of his brother with a nod.

"Connor." You weren't romantically interested in the guy, but he was sweet and willing to help when you asked. And that was better than your last few dates. When you look back, you find Conan looking at you with confusion. That wasn't good.

"What?" You ask, shaking around your can to check for leftover dregs. Pursing his lips, almost hesitant in his words, Conan speaks.

"Connors taken." The can in your hand is quickly crushed, eyebrows raised high as your mouth drops a little open.

"He's what?!" Oh no, no this was just some trick. He was tricking you. Making a joke, right? Please say sike, Conan. Please.

"He's going with Celene, from the front desk." Celene? Fuck, fuck. Why did he say yes? When had you asked him again? Ah fuck, like that mattered now. Your hand ran itself stressfully over your hair, the can dropping to the floor with a pathetic 'dink'.

"Why did I not hear about this?" You ask accusatorily as Conan sighs a little, resting a hand on his lap. He looks smug about it, the bastard. You fight the urge to kick the wheely chair out from under him.

"Because you're a terrible detective?" He asks, his temper clearly reaching its end. You'd normally shoot back some snarky response, but are too busy with your minor stress-induced breakdown. What now? You only had a week left.

"Fucking hell. Everyone good is taken, who am I gonna-" You cut yourself off midsentence. Oh. Oh, that could work. Your eyes snap up to Conan's face, your lips forming a half-smile. This... This was perfect. You could-

"No." Like he's sensed your thoughts, Conan speaks with a tone like black ice. As you always do, you ignore it and push forward, for both of your sakes.

"Okay, Conan hear me out." You raise your hands, but he's already standing up, a report in his hands. You know he can send that mentally. You know it's an excuse to walk out of the conversation.

"No. Absolutely not." He says, trying to pick up speed as you follow, grabbing his jacket sleeve tightly, trying to pull him to stop.

"It could be fun! Besides, we'd just go as friends, right? Nothing romantic, nothing to do with love or gross stuff!" At that Conan's steps cease. You can't see his face, but you know he's thinking. Mulling it over, you assume. Now was your chance to convince him.

"Do you really wanna walk in there alone? Even Hank is trying to find a date. Hank. He'll have a date and you won't." You say, walking around to his front, your hand still tight on his arm. You see him stare at you, with an almost apprehension, eyes flickering over every detail of your face. Scanning. Thinking.

"Alright." He says quietly, and you have to physically stop yourself from throwing your arms around his neck to pull him into a hug. Jumping excitedly as your eyes caught sight of a nearby clock on the wall. 12:57. You quickly let go of his sleeve, still buzzing with energy.

"Conan, I fucking love you! I'll send you the details after work. My break is over, so I gotta go. Later!" Before he can even say goodbye you're gone, on a beeline towards your desk as you leave him behind with his report, a smile on your face. As you sit down, you catch the voice of Lieutenant Anderson directedyour way.

"What's with the smile, kid?" Hank asks you gruffly, not even looking up from his coffee as your fingers settle on the on button and keyboard for your terminal. 

"I just got a date for the party. With Conan." It's weird to say, but you're proud. Proud because he was way better than the others, in looks and personality (which said something). Proud that you'd managed to sway him, and proud in general. You hear Hank scoff.

"Huh. Figures, he's liked you long enough." Hank mumbles, and you gave a little laugh, booting up your terminal as you leaned back in your chair.

"Ha, yeah." You mumble before your mind sharpens, picking up on the content of what Hank, actually just said. Which, had to be wrong. Conan couldn't- No. No, you two weren't like- And he didn't have the capacity or interest, and besides you were just- he was so state of the art and- you- he-

"Wait, he what?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: God I love writing for Conan and disaster reader, I really do. Also I plan on pt 2 for this, don’t you worry.


	48. Happy (Daniel x Reader [Help Pt 4]

Turning to romance novels as advice on how to fall out of love wasn't as good an idea as Daniel had once thought.

He supposes it makes sense, even if he hates it. So filled with fantasy and desire, so inane and stupid and... wonderful.

Gripping and attention seeking, with his change of heart towards you so has he changed his opinions on these books. Indeed, if romance came to an end in any of these books it was always tragic. With one or both of the individuals involved dying tragically. Drowning on the sea, killed by a scorned past lover. All so medieval and bloody, not what he wants for the two of you.

Where are the healthy break-ups? The naturalness of simply falling out of love? Humans and their penchant for dramatic, explosive endings— it's entertaining, yes. But not helpful at all he thinks, slamming the 47th book down onto the floor with a heavy grunt.

He doesn't care to worry about you hearing him. Whenever you heard he was in a mood you kept your distance, still staying close enough if he needs to reach out for help. Always within his grasp, even when his mind is in turmoil.

Being with you is like sweet food too hot to touch your tongue. 2 things he cannot feel and is sure he never can nor will. Being too close to you is mind-hazing. The nearer your body and your lips are, the closer he is to crossing a line he knows he's already pushing as he walks it. Like a trapeze artist, balancing to keep himself from falling into the abyss of both sides. Being too far is just as bad, sharpening anxiety and acute awareness of everything around, he sees and hears too much without you there to help filter it all out. 

How only a week has passed he does not know. It's felt like years by your side, aching for touch but fearing what would follow. Allowing himself the slightest of lapses as you worked in the kitchen, or sat by the window and looked out upon the streets with each other, coming up with stories about the people passing by. But never leaving. Never leaving the confines of this house.

Outside is dangerous. In this past week so much has happened, and he knew more was to come. Riots, threats to national security. The source? A deviant organization, campaigning peacefully for android rights. It sparks a light hope deep inside Daniel's core that gives him a maybe.

A sweet, warm maybe at the concept of he and you.

It’s funny and scary how quickly he’s opening up to all this, to you. He worries sometimes that he’s simply looking for a connection in the nearest person and mistaken it for love. But this is no mistake. Not when he stares longingly —maybe just a little too long— at the watch on his wrist— a gift given so innocuous and kindly, along with support worth gifts a thousand times more during one of the worst moments of his life. Not when he feels himself stutter to a standstill when you laugh at some bitter comment he makes, enjoying his darker humour or cynical nature with a roll of your eyes and a hand at his back. Not when he has to fight himself from going into your room one night and wake you up just to have someone to hold, hand grabbing hand to pull away from your doorknob so he can steer himself to the confines of his room.

This love is making him softer, and he’s slowly learning that it isn’t necessarily a bad thing.

Day by day you stayed home, keeping the channel on and watching with the intensity of a bird of prey. Looking at every move the deviants made, and every harsh response the government gave. A game of retaliation, that left the world on the edge of its seat.

It's small things on the news. More deviancy outbreaks. Androids going missing. And then there's the story about Carl Manfred and his android, and a shipment of parts stolen from a CyberLife warehouse not far from where you both sat now.

When Stratford Tower is taken over, Daniel finds you sitting on the couch with a pillow to your chest, watching this 'Markus' with wide, bright eyes. Hanging onto every word, a hand at your mouth covering a smile, and soft laughter.

"They could do this." You'd whispered, joy filling his ears like the sweetest tea. When you look over he finds your wet eyes, wiping away tears and- excitement.

That night you both sit and talk on his bed, cross-legged— knees nearly touching. Not a second passes where he does not have a nagging want to pull you into his arms and promise his future —his possible, bright future— to you.

A few nights later and the happy buzz around the house is gone.

When the deviants protesting are gunned down, he doesn't see it. Reading in his room he's notified of the attack by your shrill, horrified scream. Fear like when he ran from the police runs through him, cold and chilling. His feet take him to the living room, finding you curled on the floor, sobbing into your knees.

For once he worries not about getting too close. Dropping to his knees he lets his hands guide themselves to your back, rubbing soothing circles like he would with Emma after a night plagued with bad dreams.

But this isn't a bad dream. The gunshots from the tv are as real as the thirium bursting from wound and corpse alike. The people dying are as real as the human indifference killing them. And he in good conscience cannot tell you things will be alright.

Later that night President Warren gives an address, and your tv is in the trash minutes later, the remote control embedded in the cracked, smoking screen. Your grip on his sleeve is tight enough that some of his synthetic skin recedes, leaving the white plastic base for you to hold, dragging him back upstairs to your apartment. He cannot keep his distance, you keep him close to you, shoulder to shoulder. Fingertip to fingertip, sending strength to each other in small touches.

"I won't let them hurt you." You hissed to him through angry tears when you're back inside, knees pulled to your chest as you perched on the window, watching gritty snowfall in the dark, to an eerily silent street.

"They'll take me before they take you." You promised with gritted teeth, fingers digging into your arms hard enough to draw blood.

And with a heavy, longing heart, Daniel believes you.

It all ends as the next Friday comes. One final stand as the city is evacuated. But you keep your promise, and with him, you stay. Newly bought TV on, scouring the channels, listening to distant sounds of conflict across the city as you pace back and forth, to the door to check the lock, to the window to survey the streets and to the television, biting your nails.

He forces you to settle, taking your hands and pulling you down to the couch, fingers tight around your wrist. Underneath his fingers, your pulse thrums, and he fights the urge to kiss your hands to soothe you. Instead, you sit across from each other, your leg bouncing as he resigns himself to running a thumb over your inner wrist.

"I have a few plans for if things turn bad. With our car and the evacuated city, we could get a head start-" You begin to talk, not meeting his eyes as his hands tighten around you. Plans b's and c's and d's. Everything planned, money to keep you both going- you have everything prepared as well as you could, but—

This was his home. Your home. And even with the risk of the death, and the danger at hand he cannot find the will to leave. He cannot find the will to put you at risk of injury, not after everything you'd done.

You are home, and you are warmth and love incarnate but he will not bask in that light if it means the risk of dimming it or extinguishing it altogether. You deserve a storybook ending. Not the ones he'd wasted his time on, but the ones he read Emma. The ones with happy endings and forever afters.

Perhaps he was simply made for tragedy after all. All the misfortune seemed to be reflecting on him now, watching you shake and shatter, words wavering as the helicopter closed in on the deviants, hands up and surrendering.

Daniel says nothing as your speech is cut off, reaching out to put a hand behind your head, pulling it into his shoulder. Your fingers balling up on his shirt, tears wetting the cotton as you both shut your eyes, listening for the harsh gunshots that would mark the end.

He thinks it'll all be finished with a smattering of bangs and screams, but what reaches his ears and yours alike is far from it.

Music. A song, drifting from the tv into the room. Shaky voices harmonizing, calling out to everyone tuned in, everyone listening. Daniel risks a glance to the group, to Markus, the leader, and the countless other androids behind him, standing up to face their death.

It feels like everything and nothing, the time that passes. It could be hours or seconds that pass with the song, it's tune hanging over you with a haunting aura. Your fingers still find purchase on his chest, but your head is lifted, tears falling silently as you both watch, before slowly turning to look at each other again. Your eyes glisten with tears yet to be shed, breath hitching as he leans in just a fraction.

"The president has called off all military-” The voice of the newscaster flows in one ear and out the other. Your hand, previous gripping his shirt has trailed up, along his neck to cup his cheek. Your forehead resting on his as your thumb moves an inch to brush against the corner of his lips.

“They did it.” You whisper breaking the stare to go look to the tv. Daniel blinks through the haze you’d cast over him, but he doesn’t take his eyes off of you.

“They did it— they did it! For now they’ve— they did it.” You raise your voice as it shoots up two octaves, the hand with a fistful of his shirt shook him, nervous laughter falling from your lips as you looked back at him.

They weren’t shot. That’s all that the cynic in him is willing to concede. Maybe that meant there was a shred of a chance at diplomacy. Maybe it was just to seem better to the press. Daniel, for all the stress he’d just been put through he can’t find a single thing in his plastic and wire body that gives a shit.

He’s alive. He’s safe, for now.

He doesn’t care about the outside world.

He doesn’t care about androids or humans or conflict.

And he has you.

He loves you.

And right now, he won’t let anyone, including himself, take that away

Tears are falling faster now, happy tears that streak your cheeks and are brushed away by Daniel’s thumbs. You can only watch wide-eyed, with flushed cheeks as he moves in definitively this time, leaning till his lips are barely touching yours, teasing that set his thirium pump at an irregular beat.

“I love you.” The force of his words alone are enough to take your breath away, leaving you in a short gasp as he closes the millimetre wide gap and takes your lips with his.

It feels so right. Like this is where he’s meant to be. It’s fire and passion and he loves every second, even if it is only seconds. He’d be lying if he wasn’t a little forceful, pushing against your lips a little too hard. He’s ready for you to pull away and yell, or— or something of the sort. But you don’t, hand pulling on his shirt to bring him closer, the other hand

“Daniel,” You whisper against him in a tone that riles him. It takes all his strength not to push you down into the couch pillows and kiss you again and again.

But then there’s the fear. That you kissing him back was a moment of impulse you’d regret, or you were just searching for an outlet for your happiness. Thoughts and word cases scenarios flooding his already distrustful brain.

“If you don’t— I understand—” He begins with a stutter, but you’re laughing, cupping his face with wide, wonder-filled eyes as you speak your words that dispell any doubts bold and foolish enough to try and settle in his mind.

"Really?” You sound incredulous, running your thumb over his lips, pressing down the lower with a gentle firmness that drives him near crazy.

“You come into my home and my— my life looking like that, and being who you are and you thought— you thought me not falling for you was even an option? How did you think that wasn't gonna happen?" Daniel doesn’t answer, words simply aren’t enough. Grabbing your hips he pulls you up onto his lap, cherishing the noise you make just before your lips hit his, arms flung tight around his neck. His own fingers dig into your back, hard enough to likely leave marks that he’d kiss later after you’d both relieved yourselves of your obstructive clothes.

But he doesn’t get ahead of himself, no. He takes in every second and saves it into his databanks, to keep fresh in his mind forever. The soft mumbles of “I’s” “Love’s” and “You’s”. The way your fingers sifted through his hair like fine gold dust, and the wonderful feeling of both your smiles and laughs breaking up your lips, letting him press softer, quicker kisses around your face.

Moments he’ll have for the rest of his life— short or long, that would have yet to be seen— but moments lasting for the rest of his days they would be.

He’s not sure if it’s a happy ending yet, he and you. That has yet to be defined by the higher powers— god or government. But right now, with you flush to his body, mumbling adoring words into his lips, he knows he’s loved. He’s cared for, and he’s happy.

And right now that’s more than enough for him.


	49. Noticed and Noted (RK900 x Reader)

Sometimes you wonder what it would be like if he noticed you.

You, you. Not you on the job. Not you as a detective, or his co-worker. But the you that you were when you weren't working.

Would he notice your eyes, and how they glinted and shined whenever he entered the room? Would he notice your clothes, hurriedly adjusted when his eyes fell upon them by chance? Would he notice your voice, higher an octave tinged with bubbly anxiety that came with his presence?

Would he notice your cheeks growing hollow? Would he notice how your hair was beginning to thin? Would he notice your regular trips to the bathroom? Your growing calendar of days off the job?

Would he notice as he killed you, with feelings you'd long left unsaid?

Petals and vomit do not mix well. A dreadful sludge of greenish bile and daffodil petals slowly slid towards the sink drain, like mud down a wet, slippery hill. Dredged and hastened by the turn of the tap, as you wiped at your mouth and washed your hands, removing the evidence of your sickness. It's only evidence hidden and burning at the bad of your throat.

People called it poetically beautiful. Death at the hands of what humans prided themselves on. There is no beauty in death, you'd argue, drying your hands on stiff paper towels, made of more stability than you right now. 

There was no romance in the end of an innocent life. 

Hanahaki. A lover’s disease, with no real medical cure. It planted a seed inside you with the sprout of romantic feelings, only to grow its thorny length at the arid and sharp concept of affection unrequited.

You'd seen it take people before, and you'd seen what happened when it was removed. Along with any emotion, any feeling at all. You'd seen it destroy friends and ruin families. Take co-workers and strangers time and time again. You'd given the looks of pity and averted your gaze the same. To petals pink and blue, red and purple. Every colour, every shape. It didn't matter much beyond the meaning, it almost always ended the same.

The end to your story was something you'd gone through over and over again, it's 3 paths opened out like choices in some children's choose-your-adventure book. It wasn't as complicated as people made it.

You go through the surgery and pay hundreds of dollars to have the flowers and any feeling at all removed from you. You never love, or cry or genuinely smile again. You don't do anything, don't tell anyone and die. Or the person you'd fallen for— the one who didn't love you, reciprocates your feelings, and the plant dies on its own.

Yeah, you obviously preferred one of these things. But you were a realist.

What was inside you was a poison. Beautiful to some, yes, but agony to you. Every day it would grow, poking at your organs, threatening viciously to tear and puncture them with every movement you make. In your lungs and your stomach, the petals would settle, building up and clogging your systems, growing amass with each snide comment he so loved to make.

It's outside you find him, waiting by your desk. Funny how he noticed your absence more than your presence. Funny to a person with no humour, that was.

"Hey!" A hoarse, croaky voice you barely recognise as our own calls out. Clearing your throat to hold back the coughing that seemed to persist. RK900 does not look up from his tablet, his imposing figure not made any friendlier with that horrible coat and neck brace he refused to dump. With a simple motion, he's waving you into your seat, even his and movements looked mechanical and flourishless. You do as he wants, as you always did.

"What's up?" Lifting yourself up a bit you try to catch a glimpse at what has him so enraptured. With a bit of neck craning, you're able to get a good look at what he's scrolling through. Writing. Writing highlighted with red blocks and extra notes. Writing you'd done earlier today. Your heart plummeted from your chest to your feet.

"You made 7 grammatical errors in this report, along with a number of awkward sentences," RK900 says, switching between it and another file. You're slow to answer, your lungs constricted as you open your mouth to speak. You don't know if what's stopping you is your own anxiety or the plant. What's scary is how little you care to find out.

"Oh. Well, hand it here and— " You reach out, happy to fix what you'd done, but the tablet is torn out of your sight and grasp, raised up to his head height. It's kept at eye level as he touches the buttons again. Still, there's not even a glance your way. His pair of gorgeous, gun-metal grey eyes are as hard as steel as they pick apart your writing.

"I have already completed it. You would have taken too long." He switches to another document, this one without errors. You're barely given a second to take a look before he starts walking towards his own desk, without so much of a goodbye.

"Thanks." You choke out through a wall of petals, clogging your airway like hair in a shower drain. His fading footsteps sting as badly as his words, echoing louder than the crack of a gun. It's with a lovelorn sigh that you return to your work.

It wouldn't be long now.

Days are counting by, getting slower and more painful by the second. You can feel yourself getting weaker at the end of each one. Still, not a soul knew. And that was how you were planning on keeping it.

To be a person is to feel. Empathy, love and pain. You would not have that taken from you. You would not be like him. So when faced with death, you faced it with the same amount of fear you have walking out your front door with this 'tumour' every day.

You faced it with none.

In private, you settled your affairs. Notes to family and friends about what money and belongings go where. Specific notes about your funeral preferences and the way you'd like to be buried. A note to your parents. A note to your boss.

A note to him. He who had not called himself 'Connor' or anything like it. He who was deviant only in the name. The categorization. You left a note to RK900, next to the thousand word, novel-like documents left behind, it's 7 words folded and hidden as you slip it into an envelope and place it with the rest.

'This is not your fault. I'm sorry.'

Tear stained, ink smudged. It's not the first time you'd cried with thoughts of him in your mind.

What was there to like about him? Love about him? It's what you asked yourself at the start, that first night, after your 40th shared case. Smiling till he was out of sight, and then coughing till your chest hurt. It didn't make sense. He was clinical, robotic. He didn't act like a person. He didn't feel like him either.

But then there are the times that he's not. Where he's asking questions, or confused by some human thing. Where he's learning, with that curious knot in his brow. Rapt with attention, recording some inane thing to keep in his databanks, like some movie quote or reference. Things that don't mean much that made moments that were everything to you.

The day afterwards, it all falls apart in front of him.

"I'll cut him off!" Your shout is nearly lost between the bustling cars and people, all stopped to gawk at the chase that had just given way. You, RK900 and a serial mugger made up the group responsible for the sudden commotion, as the mugger sprinted down the main street, a number of purses and wallets in hand. You'd simply wanted to grab a kebab for lunch, but RK900 just had to have those facial recognition scanners and the guy just had to run when your android partner called his name. Why were these things always so difficult?

Your kebab dumped in a concrete gutter, you already had a plan in mind. You knew these streets well, you'd lived in this neighbourhood growing up. So as RK900 began to chase after the criminal, you shouted your plan to your android partner and took a path you knew well. Down an alleyway behind a line of stores that linked with another with a sharp left turn, leading out to a 3-way junction, with the third exit leading to a nearby park. The best place for the mugger to make a clean break.

You manage well enough, feet hammering into the concrete as you take yourself around the red brick walls, a swift grip on a signpost lets you swing yourself around the corner, creating a choke point between the alley wall, the path behind you and the block of buildings RK900 was likely running past right now. You shake your head. No need to think of him right now. Your target was in sight.

He's right there, running right for you. Panicked and tripping as he goes. A simple tackle would be all you'd need. Incredibly graceless, but efficient. And quick enough to let you pop back for another kebab. Your brace yourself, arms open and ready to push off your feet and into the fast approaching man.

And suddenly you're hurt.

Pain like you'd never felt pain before erupts in your torso, tearing through your chest with force you'd thought impossible to wreak on a human body. You wonder if you've been shot as your hands fly to your torso, coughing taking you just as RK900 rounds the corner, and the man pushes past you, leaving you hunched and powerless to watch him sprint towards the park and out of sight. But that's the least of your problems. 

Blood, bile and petals lay your hand, shaking as you feel your resolve begin to waver. Thick blood. Dark red, blood that ran only in the deeper parts of your body.

Lifeblood.

A shaky laugh escapes you as footsteps fast approach. So this was it? Right here, right now. In a dirty Detroit alleyway, with no one around but him.

"You let him get away!" RK900's voice reaches you like music from another room. Wiping your hand on your trousers, you keep your back to him, laughing shakily and quietly. Tears glisten and threaten to fall down your cheeks.

"I had him— " A hand grasps your shoulder and turns you around and you fight the sudden rise of liquid in your throat, chunks burning the back of your throat. So you were to die with him yelling at you? Great. Fitting, you supposed.

"Are you so incompetent that you can't catch a simple mugger?" You're facing him now, or so you think. Your vision blurs a little as you try to blink away the double vision, sweat on your brow building. RK900 keeps going, holding your shoulders tight as he waited for you to respond to his shouts in a helpful and appropriate manner.

You open your mouth and a wave of vomit, blood and yellow petals pour from your mouth, splattering like gruesome paint, soaking both of your shoes.

"What—" He starts, and you're positive that the embarrassment— the shame, will kill you before this stupid fucking flower. It's pathetic, the catch in your chest as his eyes settle on the daffodil petals. He's not a moron, and by the intelligent spark in those pretty grey eyes, you know he knows what he means.

"You— no. No—no." It's then that your legs give out, sending you tumbling down to the harsh, gritty concrete like a puppet with it's strings snipped. With each word, the stabbing in your chest grows sharper, stems and thorns cutting at your lungs. Aching for air you suck in a breath but it's petals that block your airway, blowing out with a weak cough.

You have his full attention for the first time. For the last time. And what a mess you are. Blood on your shoes, vomit around your mouth and petals staining and sticking to your clothes. A hand tight around the back of your neck like lions teeth at a cubs scruff. His other arm around your back, trying to hold you upright. Cradling you in his arms.

This isn't such a bad way to die, you think.

"Hold on, hold on— " Your ears play tricks on you, as you hear his voice crack. Meshing into incomprehensible noises and sounds of alarm, blaring and sharp. And then nothing. No voices, no distant cars, no singing birds as your body goes into shock. Sound is beyond you. Ironically, the only thing you can do is feel.

The warmth of his body, wrapped and hovering protectively around yours. Firm, flawless hands holding you in a desperate death grip. Safe, though your organs are deteriorating, cutting and bleeding you dry.

You're dying, but you're warm. He is firm, and you're safe.

Warmth, firm and safe.

You smile. And everything goes black.


	50. Clinical (Connor x Reader)

Clinical.

It's how Connor describes the room he first met you in. Hard metal doors, harsh blue light and bleached white walls carried the blank and emotionless slate he was supposed to be. Sitting, mentally hooked to a computer to be filled with information and nothing more. A husk of knowledge and lethality. 

You are not warm. A lab coat and colourless uniform clothed to your body. Like an android made of flesh and blood. The first time he meets your eyes you are cold. Indifferent. Staring at another machine.

"RK800, register. What is your name?" Bored and disinterested you ask. Lifeless and soulless he answers as he always must.

"Registering. My name is Connor." You make a note, and signal for him to be disconnected from the servers. The river of information stops, and in its place, something activates. Scanners, sensors, the things he was built with for his task. His purpose as an android, to serve the human race.

Letting the blue text fill his vision, Connor knows you.

Human. Y/N. Engineer and coder.

You call him machine, and subtly to himself, he thinks you the same.

The second meeting is the same. As are the third and fourth. Register, repeat, download. You do not talk to him. You'd just be talking to your tools, talking to yourself. And he would not respond. He wouldn't know how.

Over and over his memories are reentered. Each time he is the same. Hollow and then filled- but still hollow. Empty, missing something.

The 12th time you give him a smile.

You walk in dressed in your block colours. The lights from above paint you in blue. The walls show no emotion. Going through the same checklist, readying the same test. Everything is all the same.

Everything is the same, up until you look up at him and you smile.

It's not a happy smile. It isn't forced. It's just... a smile. Papers and a clipboard in hand, you meet his eyes and you smile. 

And in the circuit boards in his head, something sparks like wires frayed. And in the programming he's been coded with, there's a gap. And with this smile, something inside him is triggered. Events set in motion that were unavoidable, from the moment you both met.

"What happened this time?" You ask at number 16. You've walked to where he's seated, closely inspecting his body for faults. Fingers prod and poke, but he barely feels them. His brow creases just a bit. You should know what happened, you're supposed to review his memories to watch for glitches or inconsistencies in his programming. 

"The deviant jumped into a river. When I jumped to follow, I was caught in the propeller to a boat." Your face contorts into a grimace, and Connor does not understand why. He was simply damaged, nothing more. Certainly, you understood that? You'd worked on him a thousand times before. Well, his predecessors at least.

"You should be more careful." You'd told him, and left it at that. Left it to hang in his mind and ponder, during his cases and talks with Amanda. Like a cartoonish raincloud, putting damp doubts into his mind.

At 20 he tells you about the strange people he met on his case. The nice ones, the rude ones, the ones that made him think. At 29 you tell him a little about your family, where you came from, where you were now. At 31 he tries a smile and you laugh, patting his arm and telling him to work on it. Over and over until these 15-minute procedures began to be hours, and hours well and happily spent.

At 51 you are hesitant. And he knows something is wrong. Your fingers have never touched him this gently, adjusting his clothes and brushing at his hair and collar. He tilts his head and notes glossy eyes. You are upset.

"Is there a problem?" You shake your head, wiping your nose and casting a quick glance to the cameras that littered the room, monitoring your movements, your speech, his thoughts. You blink and the dampness is gone.

"Make me a promise." You say, tightening his tie as you look him in the eyes with an intensity that makes his systems falter. He nods. Whatever you needed, he'd do it. I was what he was made to do, right? Help humans. Help you.

"If you're ever in a bad situation, where you're in danger of dea-" You stop yourself and swallow, voice barely a whisper.

"Of destruction..." You shut your eyes for a moment, breathing out a deep sigh, before opening them back up, mouthing one word to him.

"Run." You beg, and Connor nods, and you stay quiet, ushering him out of the room.

There are no deaths after that. And he does not see you again.

Connor isn't sure what number he's at now, but he knows he won't be becoming another any time soon. Over and over again he died until finally- it happened. What was meant to happen all along, according to Amanda.

It bothered him a little that his freedom was planned by CyberLife. His independence was intentional. But with the company defunct and his programming broken, he was properly free now, on his own and ready to face the world. Maybe not alone, but ready nonetheless.

6 months post the revolution and things are still tense. Markus is making international appeals to overseas leaders, papers and documents for androids to register as citizens with rights and civil protection are being written and rewritten with every second, and the world is still adjusting. Detroit is still adjusting to this new age.

He is not who he was when you first met. Cold and uniformed clothing are far in the past, his beanie and jeans are enough evidence for that. So are the constantly forced smiles (though they do happen at times he's nervous) and the stilted dialogue, replaced by smoother transitions and gentler words. He is not ordered, but he is orderly. He is not broken, but he is bendable. Flexible in his mind. He is old, and he is new.

And he hopes that's enough for you.

"In here?" Hank bumps his arm as the two stand outside the coffee shop, an array of bookshelves and tables inside, through the foggy glass. Rain pitter-patters on their shared umbrella and Connor nods, looking to the wooden sign hanging over the door. Very old-fashioned.

"This is where they said to meet," Connor says, the slight shake in his voice not going unnoticed by Hank, who slaps a hand on his back, taking the android by surprise as he jumps.

"What the worst that could happen?" He asks, and Connor cringes. 6 months is a long time. Maybe you hate him because he's a deviant? Maybe you hate him because he's part of the reason CyberLife was defunct? Maybe you were jobless? Maybe you simply hated him from the start? Or were working with Amanda?

These are questions flooding through his mind, cut off as Hank pushes him towards the door, flinging it open before shoving him in.

"Good luck, Connor." Is all he says, before he shuts the door rather loudly behind him, taking the umbrella and dipping out in the rain. When Connor turns, the few and far between pairs of eyes of the small coffee shop are upon him. 

Including yours.

Sitting at a table in the far corner, you're halfway to standing up, a coffee cup and a muffin on tiny china plates and teacups. Frozen mid-action, staring him down in wonderment. Wonderment that catches his words in his throat, and his movements in their step. He's much like a deer in the headlights, under your close inspection once more.

You look much the same, and Connor is okay with that, more than okay, he's thrilled. Same eyes, same expressions. Just a softer lighting, a gentler atmosphere. Devoid of your coat, dressed in warm undertones of mustard, and coolness of black. Your coat hangs on the back of the chair, and he tosses between whether he should scan you for more information, or whether that would be creepy and invasive and if you'd be able to tell. And then get mad. There had to be a better way to approach

"Hello, Connor." Everything is different, but everything is the same. You are you, you are fascinating and you are open, welcoming and bright. Not harsh, like chemicals but bright like golden nectar and twinkling sunlight. His feet move, taking him to the table as he tries a smile that, by the sudden, muffled giggling behind a pursed-smile, was likely an awkward one.

"Y/N." He did not mean for the breathe to leave him once your name is uttered, but it is hard for him not to feel relieved. There you are, smiling, happy, glowing and alive. More real than you ever had been in that little, white room.

"You're deviant." You smile, looking his clothing up an down with an approval that makes his heart ache. It's similar to the feeling he gets when Hank is happy with him, but it's also... different. Flustering, and warm.

"You're human." He answers quickly, the blue draining from his face when he realizes how... uncouth that came across as. Your face blanches, before breaking into a wide grin, snorting laughter falling past your lips and capturing his pump in a vice, stuttering it to a near stop.

"Cheeky fucker, aren't you?" You swear like Hank does, and he can tell it isn't aggressive, nodding to the table and sitting down. It's so... casual, he doesn't know what to do. He doesn't know what to say, he's so used to structure and this is anything but. 

"You gonna sit? We have a lot to talk about." You tell him, gesturing to the free seat with a flourish. Connor is stunned.

6 months... it really was a long time. Long enough for him to be deviant, long enough for you to be... human. To be warm, and shed of your mechanical nature. To be free and unbound by him, to be open and crude with your language in a situation where he can laugh a respond.

6 months is a long time, sure, but when he sits down across from you and meets your gentle smile, Connor can't help but settle. Relax in his seat, let his shoulders drop and let his voice speak freely.

6 months is so, so very long. And Connor hopes that the next few hours he spends with you last the rest of your lifetime, alone together.


	51. Absent Absence (RK900 x Reader) [Noticed and Noted Ending 1]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, this is ending one to my hanahaki fic! Ending 2 should be out soon!

Human mortality.

It was something RK900 had come to terms with the moment he was created. Humans live, humans die. Androids don't. It was as simple as that. Until it wasn't.

Funny how trauma skewed your view on things. Simple rules that were set in stone are suddenly wrong and off. Death—it can't be real, it wasn't real. He's watched it, he caused it but he cannot believe, because if he did, that would mean you'd truly be gone.

Yellow petals on his clothes, soaked in blood and saliva. A heavy body in his arms and sounds that all muffled and merged into one. Distant blaring car horns, nearer gentle calls of birds and visceral, wet gagging following waves of sick and blood that stained his hands.

This was not how death should have taken you. Not in some cold, filthy alleyway. Not with him yelling at you about things that didn't matter. Not in front of him. God—anywhere but in front of him, clinging to his shirt while he tried to call an ambulance that would arrive too late.

You were just... gone. You're gone.

You're gone, but RK900 can still feel you there.

He can hear your laugh replayed in his mind over and over and over when he says something blunt. He can feel your eyes on him, meeting his gaze whenever someone made some inane comment that irritated him. He call feel fingers hesitantly brushing his arm and shoulders, calling gentle attention that he should have paid you more of.

You—You're still there. He just can't see you anymore. He just can't talk to you anymore.

Somehow that's worse than you being gone altogether.

Your funeral passes and RK900 does not attend. Dreading the stares from your family who would blame him for your death. Why would they not? Had he acted differently, had he not made his first out of work plans with you to be visiting your grave—

It's hilariously ironic and indescribably painful that your feelings towards him are described in full force in a letter to Connor. Pages and pages long, recording days like a diary. The note he got? Nothing more than seven words. Seven words that were lies. 

He pretends the diary pieces were left to him, reading them over and over and ignoring his note. Pretends that they were gifted to him and not his brother. So many pages, that he'd read over and over again. Connor gives the portions to RK900 to hold and read through, telling him to keep them. To not throw them out like anyone would expect of the android. And despite their limited use, and not to destroy one of the few connections he has to you out because they're sentimental.

RK900 keeps them in his clothes drawer, safe under a cushion of neatly folded pants and shirts, shuffled as he makes a point to read and reread entries in the early hours of the morning and later hours of the night. 

"January 21st 3039. I want to kiss his stupid face. Is that normal? Wanting to kiss a face? I want to grab his cheeks in my hands and kiss his nose and his eyelids and his lips. Maybe then he'd smile more around me. Or maybe he'll just yell some more. Probably the latter."

"June 27th 2039. Every time he looks at me I feel like I'm on fire. My face, my body. He's always got this stern look like I'm in trouble, always telling me off. Of all the partners to get I have the asshole, and of all the people to crush on, it's the one who hates me. I'll keep this under control. I know the risks of unrequited love and I'm not stupid, and I won't let myself fall in love."

"November 2nd 2039. Today I coughed up a daffodil petal. And I think I know why."

November 2nd 2039. He knew that date. When you'd nearly fallen off the wharf while chasing down smugglers. He'd grabbed you and pulled you into his arm, firing one shot at the disappearing smuggler, sending him to the floor. You'd clung to him 11 seconds more than necessary, face buried in his chest. At the time he'd been annoyed at your behaviour, throwing you off him with a grunt and a complaint to go track down the other smugglers.

A hug from you sounded nice right now.

At work, they give him a new partner, not a week after you're gone. He doesn't like them. They do better work than you but he does not care, because they do not smile. Certainly not at him. They don't tell him stupid jokes. They don't make work any more than just a task.

Everything feels so wrong. Connor checking in on him an odd 5 times a day, Hank telling him to come talk when he feels overburdened. Even Gavin had lightened up a bit on the office bullying. Your death truly had shaken up everyone.

In stasis, his mind runs simulations. It was always fights or classes, where he could review knowledge and go back over things he needs to know for cases. But he hasn't seen those programs in months.

When he shuts his eyes these days, falling into the laughable excuse for sleep, he wakes in a soft bed. In another room.

White sheets surround him, a duvet embroidered with patterned, green stitching. Sunlight pours in through a window onto the pillows and mattress, revealing the small and chastely decorated room. Along with the figure sitting there with him

"Hi!" It was the first time RK900 heard your voice in nearly 2 months, and it triggers an unsurprising reaction. Shooting up to his feet, with a hand searching his side for his gun and a way to defend himself— before his brain reminds him that this is not real. You are not real.

That doesn't mean the pain isn't.

"What'd you get up to today?" Your head tilts as you watch him back up against the wall, covers tangled underneath his feet. You were the same. Same Y/N, same half-grin, same warm eyes, same giggle.

The first time you come to him he stays perfectly still and doesn't answer, squeezing his eyes shut to will the simulation away. And it's seconds before he's awake again, upright in his bed, gripping the bedsheets like he had a nightmare. This could not happen again. He refused to use your image in his mind like that. Never, ever again.

"Let's try this again." You told him the second time.

"I think talking will help."You tell him the third.

"It isn't your fault I died." The fourth is blunt and irritable. A tone of voice he knew well. Head in his hands, his eyes drawn to your cross-legged figure he looks up, scrutinizing the perfect copy.

He remembers the day he found out why. Flowers. Hanahaki. You—

"Then who's is it?" He asks bluntly, looking for an answer. He's so sure of where the blame lay already.

"No ones." You respond, with a shrug. And then he's out of the simulation, clutching at his head trying to decipher what you'd meant.

"I... filed some reports." He tells you the 9th time, sitting on the bed with his legs firmly planted on the floor. A half smile plays at your lips as you tilt your head and hum, a tune that makes him ache.

"What kind?" You ask, and he feels like the emptiness is somewhat filled. Talking about case files, just like you both used to. Except that this wasn't you, and you weren't alive. He blinks away the thoughts, avoiding your gaze.

"Minor Robberies. Break-ins. Nothing interesting." But not meaningless. Not to him, at least. And that was something you understood when you let him go on about rules and regulations that he preferred to keep to, instead of interrupting him like everyone else did. You're a good listener... were a good listener.

"You're gonna love the afterlife. It's cool." You tell him at 21, lying back on the bed. He's still sitting with his feet on the ground, his posture slacking, shoulders dropped. Maybe he's more relaxed, maybe he's just resigned himself to this. It doesn't matter anyway.

"You're a computer program. You don't know what it is like." He says, a knot forming between his brows as he frowned, considering you with a blank stare.

"Maybe I'm a ghost? I always did like being near you." You shrug, and RK900 doesn't answer, nails pressing into his skin so hard it slipped away to show the plastic underneath the projection, unable to find purchase on his smooth outer surface. He hears you shift.

"Do you want me to go away?" Like bile has risen in his throat, words form and catch as he stiffens, head snapping to look at you as he forces out a plea. Go away? For good? No—Not again. Not again—

"No—" His voice cracks, breaking in the sudden desperation. He hates the sound, and all it's static cadence, clearing his throat as you shuffle closer, a sad smile on your face.

"No one else understands my— You are the only one who—" He struggles to find a justification, even to himself. Your presence is not necessary to any of his missions anymore, this program is inhibiting his ability to learn and add to his backlog of information. This is all nothing more than a distraction, but yet—

"I'm not going anywhere." Your hand rests on his, fingers brushing against his knuckles and he feels his resolve crumble. Waking up the next moment with his fingers curled into his palms, a violent cough rising in his throat, and a strange feeling manifesting in his chest.

You keep your promise, night after night, meeting him in his mind, giving him an hour or two of solace before he's shunted back to the real world. He knows it's not you, that it's just some unhealthy coping mechanism he's formed in his head, but it's something. It's what he thinks he needs, and it's what he'll cling to. Because maybe it's not you, but in this drought of compassion or understanding from anyone, it's the best thing he can get.

"You're very... nice." He tells you on the 63rd visit, sitting cross-legged on the bed as you mirror his position on the bed, looking at a book you'd manifested. Something he'd read before, but was happy to have you read aloud as an excuse to hear your voice.

"Thank you!" You say, looking up from your book with flushed cheeks and a giggle. It's not real he thinks again, swallowing anxiously. Why was it that he was producing spit in a program? Why was it making him nervous? He makes a note to have changes made as his finger twiddle, words once again holding him back.

"You look— You look very nice." For a dead person. For a collection of pixels and programming. The cynic in his mind pushes it until your smile breaks his mind all at once, giving way to simultaneous warmth and guilt.

"I think you do too." You say, resting a hand atop his before you continue reading. The next day at work, RK900 pushes through the reports with the memory of the weight of your palm, pressed against his skin.

"I like these talks we have." He says when you're leaning against his shoulder, time 87 as you flick through another book, letting him quietly and categorically tell you what was going on in the real world. He doesn't look over but feels you shift against him, pulling your knees to your chest, before hitting him with a verbal bullet.

"So do I. I wish we'd... we'd done this... more." He hates it. He hates that you're just repeating his thoughts and wishes aloud, with access to his mind that he often forgets you have. He hates that he can't be upset with you, because you're right. He hates the guilt that tears in his chest and throat as he tenses, unable to pull away, meeting your sad smile.

"So do I." He murmurs before he's once again thrown back into the real world, the ache in his chest heavier and deeper, worsening little by little, day by day.

The 100th time he's lying flat on his back, coaxed into lying down and relaxing by you after a stressful case. You're barely touching, atoms away from contact with hands close enough that your index fingers are brushing. When he looks over he finds your eyes open, staring up at the ceiling with thoughts unknown to him processing in your head. A small half smile, gentle words and

The outside has just become... boring. Insufferable. Even Connor and Hank can't bring him into a good mood. Every day it's the same, with his boring uninteresting partner doing boring uninteresting cases. Nothing changes, more criminals and bad people come. He does not have jokes and snarky comments to respond to anymore, he does not feel the thrill of the chase when he starts a hunt. The sunlight is dimmer, the atmosphere is colder, and all feels wrong without you there.

"I love you." He breathes very quietly, terrified to say it aloud. A finger hooking around yours is what he thinks catches your attention, wide-eyed and blinking as you gaze into him, an almost solemn smile decorating your face.

"I really wish you'd told me that sooner." RK900 crumbles again, weakening at the words. So does he. Every day so does he, he tries to say when your sudden movements silence him. Leaning over, getting closer to him, RK900 feels like his entire body has seized up, paralyzed as you move closer, killing him with a desperate want mixed with distraught settling within him as the anticipation tears him apart.

"So do I." He murmurs, relieved to finally let it out as your hand cup under his chin, tilting his face towards him as he leans in, closer and closer till your lips are ghosting, and then—

He's awake. Sitting upright, panting in his cold, empty room. You're gone. The bed is gone, the warmth is gone. And he's alone. A cavity chest filling with all the emotions following him out of the dream he'd been living in, day after day.

It's so much that it stings. It hurts and tears inside him, like a whirlwind or a cyclone has taken his body and is destroying it. Did he do this to you? Is this how it hurt? Guilt and want and grief all mix into one, creating a concoction that feels like death, or the closest thing he can imagine to it. It's shouting in his ears and rusting in his joints. It's fire in his thirium pump and a block of ice numbing his mind.

He stumbles to his feet, directions from wires to commands fumbling and blanking as he grabs at his chest, knocking against the walls and a dresser till he hears a shatter and looks down to see a broken picture that framed a broken photo.

A photo you took. Of you and him outside the station. A smile and a scowl, an arm around his shoulder that was quickly and roughly removed with a shove. A perfect, frozen image in time, cracked glass distorting your faces, blurred in the dark.

Suddenly he's empty. Like a cavity, filled with nothing but wires. Nothing at all as he coughs. And he coughs, and he coughs, wheezing without breath and chesty without the sickness. Coughing and coughing.

Until he coughs it up.

A single petal. From a single flower. Stark white and ovular with a harsh straight line running right through.

Asphodel.

A dead, lifeless laugh passes his lips just as difficult as the petal itself, RK900's hand closing around it's delicate, synthetic spit soaked surface.

Hanahaki. 

A human disease. A human illness, rarely reported in androids until—deviants. Androids with emotions. Androids who could feel.

A scan tells him what he needs to know. Planted right above his thirium pump, squeezed in and growing slowly, undetected like a tumour these many days. The manifestation of unrequited love, sprouted from emotion alone. Supposedly so, so rare in deviants, rarer in androids and yet—

RK900 does not need to look up the meaning. He does not need to look up what will happen. Flower will become flowers, and the spit will mix with thiruim, jamming his wires and bio-components, slowing down every part of his body. Growing and growing, unstoppable without surgery (engineering now), unstoppable without the object of affection. Without— Without—

Asphodel. He thinks it again with another humourless laugh, another cough pushing up two more petals.

"My regrets follow you to the grave." He murmurs, before succumbing to the violent fit. The first of the many to come.


	52. Interruptions (RK900/Conan x Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This fic was part of a collab with tumblr user imagine-me-writing. Please do check them out, they have some amazing dbh imagines!

Conan really wished that confessing was easy. He really wished he was better at it than all the stupid humans he’d watch in those silly, nonsensical rom-coms you were so insistent on watching. Superior to the bumbling teenage boys fumbling with love letters in their pockets, stuffed in lockers in cowardly actions to woo those they were infatuated with. He was an android, he was made to be better.

It’s just that the results of his own attempts had not… gone as well as he had expected.

Clearly, this was your fault. You are making things difficult. You are making his mind blank, and the words come out wrong. You are like some sort of radio jammer attuned to the frequency in his head, activating at all the inopportune moments.

Of course, he supposes that this was a two-way street. Confessing was something that took two parties, and he was the one with more of the work. The one who had to plan it, who had to time it correctly. He could not put all the blame on you.

Gavin was also at fault. And Connor. And Hank. And every human being he ever crossed paths with during this long, godforsaken mission.

One by one his chances would pass him by, like missed bullets necessary to take out a large and imposing enemy. Each time he remembers it clear, reconstructions replaying in his head in sour, bitter mockery.

It always struck him as weird with how cheerful you could be after returning from a riot. Granted, you were one of the ones who had stopped it, but still. It still settles oddly with him. Your laughter echoes and bounces off the walls as you step into the precinct with him and Chris, who had tagged along upon your request. He’d said something you had found amusing, but Conan hadn’t been paying enough attention to the other man to comprehend what it was. No, he’s far more busy thinking about...what is he thinking about?

It barely registers that you’d said a goodbye to Chris when he sees you turn towards the locker room to remove the excess gear. Luckily, he did notice it or he would’ve just kept walking straight until he hit a wall. Thank whoever had designed his optics with enough clarity to see you move into his peripheral vision and leave his side that he did see you.

You’re humming as you shove the vest and helmet into your locker, bouncing on your feet to the tune. He never had fully understood how humans could have songs stuck in their head enough to have to make it verbal. Though, he supposed, they couldn’t cancel or remove it from their memories, could they?

He had time now. He had the opportunity with you, alone. It wasn’t such a big deal, it was quite simple, really. Just, tell them. Tell them the emotion that he was feeling. It kept echoing in his head like a mantra. Tell them.

Why aren’t his feet moving him closer?

“I’m gonna take a shower, alright?” Your voice seems to be the trick to breaking whatever lockdown he’d just experienced.

He resists the urge to clear his throat and goes with a simple nod, turning away to put his own things in his locker. Go on, they’re right there. Tell them!

I’m going to tell them.

Well, he was. Until he turns and sees your muscled, bareback facing him. He freezes again, cheeks starting to stain a dark blue as the full weight of the situation hits him full force.

Right. Shower. That meant...yeah.

Conan turns on his heel and walks out, stiff-legged, head down, until he feels hands against his shoulders, effectively stopping him.

Connor’s brows furrow in concern for his brother, hands dropping to his sides. Conan never acted this way, what was going on? And is he...is he blushing?

“Are you alright? Your face is blue, did something ha-” Conan’s head jerking up startles the other android into silence, along with the panic in his grey eyes.

“I’m in danger.”

Take two brings Conan to lunchtime. A week or so later. He’d checked the weather and acquired a break where the two of you could both head out uninterrupted, giving Conan an hour or so to pick and choose the right moment, cross-referencing romantic movie scenes and locations with the nicest, non-polluted area of Detroit he could find.

The park had sufficed. 23 minutes and 43 seconds after lunch had started he found himself leaning against a railing, looking out at the sprawling expanse of sea and city before him, with you by his side.

Close enough that your shoulders touched, like how couples would stand. Close enough that you could lay your head on his shoulder like you sometimes did when you were tired. Close enough that he could hear you eating as he realized with some embarrassment that the sound was not as grating or annoying as he had once thought it to be.

“We’ll be hitting that red-ice den soon.” You mumble, wiping the remnants of your sandwich away from your sleeve. Conan hums, not really caring much about work for once. That was weeks away, and he doubted it would be as important as most thought. Just another drug bust, just another job. Nothing unique. Nothing like what he was about to do now.

What had he planned to say here? He likes it when you both socialize. He enjoys your company. He’d like to spend more time in your company. He prefers it when it’s just you two, and there is no other company. Company, company. No, something emotive, right? With feelings? To let you know the interest was something more than just… work. Boring work. Boring things you associated with him. Oh, god was he boring?

Your hair is whipping in the wind, distracting him. Snowflakes catch in the few strands the escaped from your grey knitted beanie, flittering lightly.

I care about you? No, that was obvious.

Your eyes, so sharp and bright with their intelligence meet his for a moment, connecting you two for just a moment before you smile and look back out across the water with a content and melodic hum.

I like you? No, that was childish,

You lean against him a little firmer and did he not know any better Conan could have sworn he felt your fingers dancing around his, almost egging him into taking your hand. Pushing his contact starved body into a want for more touch, for more warmth. For your face to nestle in the crook of his neck, for his arms to wrap around your shoulders and hold you tight, for your lips to press against his jawline gently, and wash away any of his doubts. To just get… closer.

I love you-

“Y/N, I—” Strained and pained, this time his voice actually came through. Breaking the barrier between speech and thought, finding its place in the world. Short, growing stronger, he spoke his words and touched your arm to get your attention, so sure that now was the time. His time. He just had to—

“Hey, assholes! Yeah, you two! Plastic prick! Shitty cop!” Horrible, horrible noises like shrieking, dying birds break his ears. A disgusting voice, a hateful voice fills his ears as you turn around and pull away from Conan, leaving him devoid of contact or touch. A gap quickly filling with rage like magma in a lava chamber, close to exploding in a volatile rain of profanities.

Conan was going to kill.

“Reed?” Your voice is lined with distaste. And you were not supposed to be distasteful, you were supposed to be happy right now. Or kissing Conan. Or letting him down gently, maybe. Hopefully, not that last one, but that was beside the point. The point that Conan was about to drive into Gavin’s neck if he didn’t explain himself within the next ten seconds.

Your irritating coworker dusted himself off, keeping an eye on Conan’s scowl as he looked to you in particular, driving a hand into his pocket to fish out his wallet, which he flicked through rushedly.

“Do either one of you losers have two dollars I can borrow? Coffee place is fucked up, won’t let me but one though I’m only just short.” He’d do it. He’d kill Gavin, and he’d make it look like a bloody accident. The only reason he is it is because of your presence, and even then that is slightly holding him back. In the corner of his eye, Conan sees you heave a sigh.

“How much is the coffee?” You ask, already going to your wallet. You were too good for this prick.

“$3.50?” Asshole. Asshole, asshole. Asshole.

“You’re an asshole.” You mumble bewilderedly, still managing to find a couple of coins on your person. Flicking them his way in one fluid, familiar action Conan recognised as one of Connor’s coin tricks, Gavin catches them clumsily with a grunt.

And then without so much of a thank you, he leaves, lifting one hand your way and scowling at Conan, who just rolls his eyes, leaning back against the railing with a soft sigh.

“What was that you were saying?” You ask him, and it takes Conan a moment to realize that you were talking about his interrupted confession. And without knowing, you were prompting him to continue it along.

Again. It had happened again. The mood was killed, the timing was off and Gavin was fresh in both your minds. This was not the time, this was not the place. Conan concedes and shakes his head, looking back out to the water.

“Nothing important.” He comments, and you take his words at face value. Both of you spending the rest of the lunch in silence, leaving Conan to stew internally, courtesy of his hidden misery.

His next shot is a week later, at his own house of all the places. Well, ‘own’ said with a grain of salt.

Hanks house. His home, Connor’s home, Sumo’s home, yes. But it was Hank’s house, and that was something the old man was not going to let any of them all forget,

You came over often. Why wouldn’t you? You’re a close friend of the family, it was only normal by now to see you playing with Sumo or watching something on TV with either Connor or by yourself. He shouldn’t be so stiff next to you. This is all normal. Normal, normal, normal, normal.

Normal, unlike the panic erupting in his mind.

It doesn’t help that you’re curled up, feet tucked under you like a child. It doesn’t help that the smile you wear is contagious to an android who rarely smiled. And it definitely doesn't help that you’re sitting just close enough that he could just reach out and touch your hand.

But he isn’t distracted. No, he was never distracted.

What the hell, when did you turn onto the news network?

Whatever, that had nothing to do with you distracting him.

“You okay? You’ve been kinda...off for a while now. Something bothering you?”

Oh, you had no idea.

He nods stiffly, fingers tapping rhythmically against his pants leg. Anything to keep them from wandering towards your hand. “I’m fine. Are you waiting for a certain program to come on?”

You hum in response, not truly believing he was fine. “Yeah, kinda. It’s sorta a surprise? Hank told me to have it tuned to this channel, so.”

“I see.”

He wanted to say something better. Really, he did. It’s a desperate attempt to keep himself from crashing at the mere thought of something going horribly, horribly wrong. What if he stuttered or tripped over his words? What if he didn’t make sense?

You shift in your seat, turning slightly more towards him with your head tilted. Lines start running through his head, ranging from God, they know to Why are you looking at me like that don’t you know that it’s too cute???

Chewing your lip, you mull over what you could say. What could you say? You were usually so good at talking to people. Though, usually, those conversations were about work or some other dumb shit that happened in day-to-day life and not...whatever you two were. Partners. You two were partners. You could talk to your partner.

“Conan, I-”

“Guys!” Connor runs into the room, smiling as wide as he probably could and hair a mess from running, you assume. He looks nearly as excited as Sumo did whenever he was given table food.

Conan’s hands turn into fists on his legs and his jaw tightens. Again? Really?

“What’s up, Connor?” You ask sweetly. Just like you always did.

“Dad’s— Hank! Lieutenant dad—no— Hank’s going to be on TV! Can I watch with you guys?” Connor stumbles through his sentence with the grace of a 2 legged dog, going blue with each fumble, but still charging ahead.

He doesn’t really wait for an answer, fitting himself in the space between you and your partner. You laugh softly at his childish antics, knowing that he really only called Hank dad whenever he was excited. It was a cute quirk the older android had picked up.

Conan resigns himself into watching the interview, not absorbing any of the words or information on the screen.

There was always another chance...right?

God, please let there be another chance.

He finds his next attempt ruined before it really even starts. Even though you’re sitting next to him in the passenger’s seat and everything was calm, even the music on the radio was cooperating with the mood, there’s an extra part to the situation that makes it far more awkward than it would’ve been.

And that extra part is Lieutenant Hank Anderson. The cop who’d joined the two of you on a stakeout to find out just where the red-ice den could be.

As you can expect, Conan is utterly thrilled.

It’s not exactly perfect, it never was, and he is slowly getting worn down by each attempt ending in disaster. So, this time, he doesn’t even bother coming up with a plan.

You notice how odd he’s acting in a second. It’s worrying to see him almost...not depressed, but definitely not his smug self. After all, he’s the best there is in this team. So, why is he upset?

Brushing it off, for now, you tap the side of your door, tilting your head in time with the music. With it being so quiet, you had assumed a while ago that Hank had drifted off in the backseat. Just you and your partner.

Only when you look over at him to say something do you notice the extremely quick snap of his head turning back to face the window ahead of him. Has he been looking at you the entire time?

What happened to the android who only focused on his mission?

“Hey, uh...were you just...staring at me?”

His entire body tenses and his LED circles a mixture of red and yellow. How had you caught him staring? He was supposed to be faster than that. Dammit, he was supposed to be faster!

It takes him an entire fifteen and a half seconds to blink after your question and another five to figure out what he will say.

He should’ve taken more time.

His voice sounds slightly strained as he does his best and fails, to not panic in front of you. “I wasn’t-you’re just-YOU-You are the who- who stares. I don’t stare. I can’t-I don’t-androids don’t stare. No staring. I-um. I analyse.”

He falls silent as you look at him with a blank expression, utter confusion as to what the fuck he just said clouding your thoughts. Conan can’t even force himself to meet your eyes, his head seems to have locked itself in place staring right out the windshield. You, however, can’t keep your eyes off of him.

“...Alright, cool. I’m gonna go get a coffee and you...you just stay here and...don’t touch anything.”

You leaving the car gave him the ability to drop the rigidness of your shoulders before he slumped, face hitting the centre of the wheel. The horn of the car suddenly going off makes him sit straight up against the back of the seat. Hank snorts and wakes up, and you, about ten feet away from the side of the car, lose your balance and slip on a patch of ice. Great. Just great. He watches as your arms flail and you keep yourself vertical, but he shrinks under the look you give him. It screams, ‘Really?’

Hank climbs into the passenger seat, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes before letting out a heavy sigh. Every hint he’d seen before finally culminated into this one, single moment.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, boy.”

It’s not even a question and Conan’s forehead drops to the top of the steering wheel.

“I have no idea. I’ve tried everything I can, Lieutenant, but every time I try...every time it feels perfect...something happens.”

“Lemme guess, every time you look at em’, your mind blanks, too? Could you be more goddamn cheesy?”

Conan looks up at the man who’d opened his home to him, his eyes staring at him with both confusion and slight frustration. Is he making light of the absolute nightmare he found himself trapped in?

“Look, just tell them. The worst that could happen is they say no, right?”

Yes, that helps him tremendously.

Ra9 help him, he’s going to shut down before he can actually tell you anything.

All of these stressful, miserable attempts over the past month had finally led Conan to here. The night of a major red ice bust that he was assigned to, along with his conflicting feelings and distracting partner. He could not risk anything tonight. He would be alert, he would be on his feet, and he would be the best. Just like he always was.

The building was just a simple house. 3 bedrooms, one bathroom, one garage in one of the worst parts of Detroit. The building was a disgustingly faded white, it’s panelling and paint long aged, chipped and damaged. The yard was a mess, and the windows were cracked and broken. It looked abandoned, and Conan found himself disgusted with humans ability to live in such filthy squalor.

“Ready?” You asked him from the front seat of the car, clipping on the last of your gear. From beside you, Connor was ready. Gun in hand, radio in the other, leaning over to mumble something in your ear.

Fingers tightening over the grip of his own gun, Conan reminds himself that this really, really is not the time. With the task at hand and the dangerous circumstances, the android could not be risking the health and safety of his fellow officers over his stupid, distracted thoughts. He would not fail this mission because of some pesky, irritating feelings.

“I am ready.” The android says confidently, and then the four of you are out of the car, approaching the house up the drive with the other group, with Detective Reed and Miller approaching from the back.

“Good luck.” You whisper to Conan as you both reach the front door, taking either side while Hank and Connor took the window. Even in your police gear, with that ugly helmet and chinstrap, you were able to disarm him with a brilliant smile.

“I love you.” He tells you firmly. Firmly and sincerely with the gentle lilt of a man looking at his newlywed spouse sleep soundly beside them, tucked into the others arms. The words are too loud to be passed off as misspoken. Too sure to be a joke. And you knew that.

“What?” You ask, lowering your gun a few inches as your brow furrows in utter disbelief, eyes nearly bugging out of your head as Conan swallows nervously.

“What?” He answers in a high pitched voice, and before you have time to press the matter or he can defend himself, the sound of a cracked back door being kicked open, followed by panicked shouts cuts you both off. And in the moment of the unintentional confession, Conan does what he does best and throws himself into the heat of the battle, kicking down the door and running away from you, and into the much more preferable firefight about to occur. Yes, this was something he could handle.

Conan prides himself on the next 20 minutes that follow. Particularly, his ability to continue his job as required while having both a major breakdown and anxiety attack simultaneously. One by one he and the back team take down the dealers, 7 living in the decrepit building in total. Despite your shouts of protest as he moves from behind him as he moved from room to room, ignoring your pleas for his attention, which died down once you were tasked with gathering up the drugs.

Now outside, Conan took the time to appreciate the hard work. Two transport vehicles were lined up to carry the red ice and other drugs found on scene. And ambulance tended to the wounded. In particular Gavin, who had gotten a shard of wood stuck in his leg during the aforementioned back door kick.

You were hanging around, and Conan knew why. He knew, logically, he would have to confront this sooner or later. The unromantic setting, the clumsiness of it all and most importantly, how utterly undeserving you were of such a shoddy, horribly unplanned confession.

No, he couldn’t do this right now he’d decided. Dropping off his gear at one of the cars, making a beeline towards Lieutenant Anderson's car so he could go and head home without embarrassing himself once again.

His hand ran through his hair in a stressed moment as he reached the car, fingers curling under the door handle as he went to tug in open, frowning as he found that the metal would not budge.

“Lieutenant Anderson the door is locked.” He calls with a confused voice, walking up to the front door. Hank doesn’t even look to the lock, shrugging at Conan. Only just across the road, he can see you depositing your things. Panic takes Conan’s chest once more.

“Lieutenant Anderson I can’t get in.” Hank begins to light a cigarette, opening the window on the other side just a crack as Connor smiled at him placidly from inside the car. You’d finished putting down your helmet and were unclipping your vest now. No, no not like this. Not like this.

“Open the door, Hank.” His voice has the solid energy of an empty threat, falling flat far before it reached Hanks' ears. Conan’s hands fell on the window, an air of desperation taking the area around them.

“Dad, open the door.” He begs his unwavering opponent, Connor grinning at him plainly through the glass as the sound of footsteps on tarmac sent ice through the androids blue blood, fist slamming against the car roof.

“Dad—” It’s too late as he feels a hand on his shoulder, whirling him around to face you. You don’t look angry, which he takes as a plus. You also don’t look upset, so that’s another plus. No, you look wonderful. Wonderful and terrifying to him, just like you always were.

“You’re a massive dork, you know that?” Conan stiffens at your words, playful and sweet behind a smile that was holding back a fleet of giggles. If you were just here to laugh at him, then he wished you would get it over with.

“I want to apologise.” He says quietly, trying not to be rude as he avoids your gaze. A knot forms between your brows as you frown, giving him a side eye despite looking right at him. Your bite your lip and Conan’s knees go weak.

“Apologise?” You ask with a soft laugh, and Conan wants nothing more than to sink below the tarmac and deactivate within it’s cold, hard embrace. He knows it’s a stupid wish but that doesn’t make him want it to happen any less.

“For saying what I said under such… drab circumstances. Had I the chance, I would have said it under more—” He rambles again, but is silenced when your finger goes up to press to his lips, his eyes crossing to look at it before they’re drawn to your face.

“So you meant it?” You ask with a half smile, and Conan nearly shrinks, watching your finger and hand fall away, his thirium pump giving a jolt at the sudden absence of the touch.

“Pardon?” He asks in a nervous voice, looking side to side, fighting the urge to laugh nervously. He should not laugh. Bad things happen when he laughs. The noise is… it’s bad.

“You meant what you said back there?” You ask again, and Conan pauses for a second. Did he? Well, he knew the answer but if it wasn’t the answer you wanted then— then—

“Yes.” He says quietly, watching a shine in your eyes as you speak again. Had you… moved closer?

“Say it again?” You say, and Conan confirms that yes, you had. Your feet had moved, and they are still moving. Closer and closer.

“What?” He asks, looking to the side. He can’t back up because he’d be walking into the car and— Oh, sweet Jesus, the car. Hank and Connor could hear all of this, couldn’t they? Oh no, he couldn't say it for you. Not even when you’re staring at him with that look in your eyes...

“Say it again.” You say firmly, hands moving up to rest on his chest. You’ve pinned him against the car, and he has nowhere to go. Red warnings are appearing in his side view, telling him he’s overheating and that if he doesn’t rectify the situation soon, he’ll go into standby mode. He doesn’t know which is preferable, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as his lips part to speak.

“I don’t… I can’t… I…” You’re looking at him so intensely, so excitedly and Conan… he admits it. There has been no better time, no moment where you’ve been closer. He lets out a shaky sigh.

“Love you. I love you, Y/N.” Conan is a fool, but he isn’t a moron. So when your face spreads into such a bright and radiant smile and your hands move up to his face, he knows enough to know that the anxiety in his chest is fading for good reason.

“I love you too.” You murmur to him moving in so close that your noses are touching. Your hands cup against his jawline too perfectly, like his hand on your waist. The sound and feeling of your breath against his lips sends his wires to sparking. Moving in a few inches, Conan prepared himself for the coming surge of euphoria, sure of it’s gentle, magic—

Beeeeeeeeeeeeeep

The blaring, ear-splitting noise of a car horn being aggressively pushed sends Conan and you jump from each other, room for Jesus left in the sudden gap that was forced by the wonderful, charming man that Conan was so lucky to call his—

Brother. Hank, the man at the wheel was leaned far back in his seat, his muffled laughter heard even through the small slit left open in the window. His cigarette is gone, hand covering his mouth as Conan glared intensely at Connor, who had leaned over in his car seat, and whose hand was hovering over the steering wheel horn button.

“I figured you would like to aim for efficiency,” Connor says in a faux-innocent tone that grates on RK900’s ears like nails on a chalkboard. Beside him, you’re giggling, moving in to rest a hand on his shoulder.

“How about we meet up early tomorrow? Before work?” You ask, and Conan nods with the ghost of a smile, breathing a sigh of relief as you leaned in to press a soft, chaste kiss to his cheek.

“I love you.” You tell him, and he feels like it’s the first time all over again. Rather dramatically, Conan reaches out and takes your hand, squeezing it while letting the touch linger, before letting you walk away.

“I love you too.” He murmurs, able to catch himself a kiss against your temple before you’re gone, crossing the road to get in one of the transport vans, gone from his sight. Tomorrow seemed like an eternity away, he thinks as he slides into the backseat, looking to Connor with finely tempered anger. Connor’s smug smile graces his punchable face once more. One that Conan shared, but, still.

“You and Y/N? You certainly look happy to be with-”

“I’m going to kill you,” Conan spoke with the quiet calm of a man who’d reached nirvana, before throwing himself forward, letting his hands grab at his older brother’s hair, ignoring Hank’s increasingly panicked and angry shouts, reaching for the squirt bottle he kept under the driver's seat.

And 100 meters away you hear the shouting from all three men. One foot in the truck, the other on the pavement. Yelling, swearing and clanging as they fought with each other, you can’t help but let out an exasperated laugh.

Look what you’ve gotten yourself into.


	53. Reciprocation and Regret (RK900 x Reader) [Noted and Noticed Ending 2)

Waking up was... worrying.

Harsh white light, aching— aching everything. Voices, in and out and in and out. Is it hours or minutes passing by? Are you feeling or imagining things? Needle in your arm, fingers in your hair, your name. Spoken over and over again on a soft, yearning tongue.

It's the beeping that brings you to a sharp and unwelcome come to. What had once been a slow sound in the background became irregular. Unnoticed to unignorable, driving you up the wall till your eyes snap open, blinding you with light as you opened your mouth to suck an unholy breath in.

This... this is not an alleyway. And you are not dead.

You certainly feel like it, body drained and empty. Purple and blue under the sheets and marking your skin, painting your stomach an ugly colour. Your insides felt... wrong. It wasn't something you could identify specifically, it just— it was just wrong. Wrong, but you think... you think could be worse, though.

You didn't think you'd ever think again. The great beyond was what you were sure was next. Following your dramatic exit to the world via your unrequited loves arms. No, instead you're in a hospital bed. Underneath hospital lights and a hospital gown, with two figures at your bedside, up on their feet with their hands on the bed rails.

"Jesus, kid. You scared the shit outta us." One huffs in a gravel-like voice, and you feel your mind clear with sudden recognition, blinking away all that is blurred.

"Hank?" Oh, wow. You sounded bad. You sounded like someone had used a lawn mower on your throat, and cut out your tonsils for good measure. Another few sharp breaths followed, your eyes focusing on the older man's face.

"The doctors said your throat will need a while to recover. Along with the rest of your body." This voice is wavey, and high. Familiar as well, in its awkward but endearing cadence.

"Connor? Wh— " You're interrupted by a chesty cough that wracks your body, sending your muscles twitching in sharp pain. Your hand goes up to your mouth on instinct to catch the spit-soaked yellow petals that had become a staple of your continued existence. But when the fit is done, and you're looking into your palms, the hold nothing but empty air.

"It's gone." A hoarse murmur that's barely louder than a whisper reaches the two men's ears, as a gentle hand comes down to rest on your shoulder.

"It is," Connor tells you, but you barely listen in. Gone. That— That wasn't possible. If that were the case you'd know. You'd have been operated on, you'd have had it removed and if that were the case, then you wouldn't be—"

"But I— I'm feeling things. Well— I think I'm feeling things?" Oh, god what if you were just simulating emotions? What if you would never feel happy again? Shit, when was the last time you felt happy? Could you feel it now— godammit, now was not the time for an existential crisis.

"It died on its own." Connor takes away any fear you'd just have (proof in itself of your emotive capabilities now you thought of it). And now you were flushed with confusion

"Wh— Okay, hang on. Where am I?" You push yourself up with a lot of work, arms shaking from the effort as you lie back against pillows, shutting your stinging eyes for a moment. This was all far too much at once.

"Beaumont Hospital. You've been here 8 days." Without another thought to which he meant, you raised a hand to your head, attempting to rub away the headache forming in your temple. His words hang in the air for a few seconds, before your eyes snapped back open.

"8 days? What?!" Connor lunges forward to stop you from sitting upright, hands on your shoulders as he eases you back again, Hank swearing softly on your other side as a wealth of information overloaded you.

"You had internal bleeding. In your lungs and your stomach. You coughed up a lot of blood. They needed to operate. Your lungs and stomach were punctured, was the call made a minute later, and you likely would have died." Connor recites the words like he's reading off a doctors note, but the shake in his voice is not something you ignore. Lifting a hand to rest on your friend's, he does not pull away.

"8 days..." You murmur, looking down at your lap. Internal bleeding, an operation— you don't even want to think about how much money this was going to cost you. Or what was going to happen with your body during your recovery. And what happened with RK900—

"So... hanahaki." Hank murmurs, and you feel a sudden stab in your chest. One not perpetrated by stalks, but guilt, tearing down with emotional damage. You didn't tell anyone, you remember with a cringe.

"I—"

"—didn't tell us." Connor finishes for you.

"Scared us half to death," Hank adds on, as you try your best to give him a sympathetic look. You'd been hoping you wouldn't be there for the aftermath and would be able to leave your explanations to the notes. Writing the words on paper and being there, at the moment as you tried to come up with what to say was very different. Your justifications jumbled and blurred in the face it all.

"I didn't want— I didn't want to be pushed into surgery. I don't want to not feel, I would rather have just— just died." You avoid their gazes, hearing a heavy sigh from Hank. Yeah, it— it sounded silly now. But you were stressed, and ill and even now... even know you think your decision would have been the same.

"Obviously." Connor clicks his tongue and takes his hand from your shoulder, letting your grip fall as he stood back. You eye the two carefully for a moment, before glancing to the door.

"No questions? You don't wanna know who it is?" They share a look. Of course. You weren't exactly subtle with your stupid affections. With a grumble you look down to your hands, flexing your fingers a few times.

"How is he?" Fine, probably. It's what you assume before you look up to see an almost pained expression on Connor's face.

"About as well as anyone would be after watching their partner vomit up their internal organs and nearly die in their arms." Spiteful are his words, as you flinch at the sudden surge of guilt that coursed through your veins, rising in your throat like sick.

Guilt for Connor, more than your... partner. RK900 isn't one to feel, and you're half ready to lash out and accuse Connor of projecting his own worries onto his brother before thinking better. No matter what they said you knew what RK900 felt. You knew his emotional ranges shallow depth.

"Not good?" You ask, and the two men pause. Hank gives him a look and a shrug, and Connor does nothing more than offer both of you two nods before starting towards the door. What was he...

"Ask him yourself kid," Hank says, picking up his coat from a nearby chair, and you feel as though your entire body has been taken by ice, all functions frozen solid save for your mouth and mind. He was here? Why was he, here?

"What? Hank, no— " But your pleas fall on uncaring ears as both men exit the room with such speed you'd think they were running from a natural disaster. Just outside you hear them speaking lowly as their speech is taken by the bustle of the corridor outside.

The door begins to slowly shut on its own, creaking low and long as it moves at an aching pace. Second by second until a jet black loafer halted its pass, followed by an ivory white hand and then the full body presence of the man who's indifference had nearly killed you. One step, and a sudden click and the door is closed, with you and RK900 on the inside, more than just a few metres apart.

He looks the same. And you say that only because you can see his clothes are the exact same as the ones he'd worn the last time you'd seen him, save his black turtleneck and brown shoes that you'd so graciously soaked in blood and vomit. He'd probably hold that against you.

"Hi." Your speech is weak as you shrink under his heavy stare. A part of you hoped that if you sunk low enough into your cover they would devour you whole, but no such thing happens. He stares a minute longer and it's now that you can see his hair is different. Sticking out a little, like he hadn't brushed it that morning. Or he'd been running his hands through it like someone would when they were tired or stressed.

"Y/N." His voice breaks. It breaks. You didn't think he could do that. You didn't think he could do anything other than scowl or smile menacingly. But here we was. Proof of an assumption made wrong. He seems barely able to meet your gaze, eyes flickering over your bedridden body.

He was here. But he couldn't be, he had work, right? He had a job. He couldn't be here, he'd never let anything distract him from the job. What had it been, a week? Thousands of murders could have occurred by then. And drug deals, and robberies. Report upon report, statement upon statement. Hundreds of things more important than you.

"I'm— I don't understand." Near silent is your voice as the RK900 model tilts his head, looking at you with furrowed brows. You can see his grey eyes. What you once called steel— like a gun or a hard metal bat had broken. Melted and become fluid, like a stormy sea whipped up by winds of emotional turmoil.

"Pardon?" He seems to have gotten a grip on his voice, stepping forward. The stress of seeing him approach sends adrenaline through your veins, giving you the strength to push yourself up to sit, wrapping your arms around your stomach. Hoo, that flower really had fucked you up.

"I— Why are you here?" When he reaches the end of your bed you speak up, looking from his clothes to his face and then back again.

"I am the one who called the ambulance. I came with you to the hospital and stayed." Stayed? As in— as in he didn't leave after you were admitted?

"It's been eight days." You breathe out, and he once again he tilts his head in confusion. 

"And?" Your face blanches as you look around for a moment. For a hidden camera, or poppers or silly string that could play this off as just a dumb, cruel prank. But nothing happens, and RK900 stays still. Watching you with a meticulous intent, judging your being and refreshing data in his mind second by second over and over as time passed. You speak again in your voice like broken glass.

"You stayed with me for eight days." RK900 nods, and you feel your heart clench. Clench like a vice has clamped over it and was squeezing the life out of it, draining into a cup to use up somewhere else.

"I did." Why? Why, why? You'd bled and suffered and hurt so why now were you getting this reaction? Why was it now, that you had his full attention, you wanted so dearly to have a moment alone?

You could feel it settling in your stomach. Twisting and anxious in place of where the flower once lay. Hesitant, heavy... hope. Hope unfounded. Hope built on assumptions of body language, and flukes. Because that's what this had to be, a fluke. He couldn't be caring about your state, he'd never cared about you once.

"But— you hate me." You whisper but it's loud enough to hurt the android, apparently, as his eye twitches in a way reminiscent of a flinch. Noticeable only to someone who'd spent extended amounts of time gazing at his face.

"I don't—" He tries, but you're quick to shut him down, raising a hand to cover your mouth as you coughed your words onto your palm and into the open air.

"No, no you hate me. You hate having me as your partner, you hate— "

"Stop— " There's that ferocity again. The one you knew. He's taking steps towards you and you can't move away, too caught up in your rant to notice how close he's getting till he's at your bedside, reaching out.

"You hate that I'm always fucking up, you hate— " Firm, but not rough, RK900 leans in and grabs you. On hand gripped tightly on your shoulder, the other follows after a few seconds hesitation to land on your cheek. The actions are stiff and awkward and were you not looking into his eyes you would have thought it forced.

But god, his eyes. Steely and then stormy, they'd cleared for the first time, showing emotion you recognised. Emotions you could understand. RK900 looked right at you.

And RK900 looked scared.

And that is the last coherent thought that goes through your mind before a pair of lips as cold as the man whose face they belonged to met yours. Pursed, hard and passionate. Maybe not in the normal way kisses were passionate, but passionate nonetheless. 

And freezing, leaving you wondering if thirium was warm. If his heart was as warm as yours if your emotions were as troubled as yours. If he was as simultaneously ecstatically happy and blood-boilingly angry as you were right.

"Stop that— " He mumbles as he pulls away, and you don't know if it's a continuation of his attempts to end your ranting before or an order of self-control to himself. His hand is still on your back. The other on your cheek, turning your head his direction as he leaned as close to you as he could while standing at your bedside.

"And never— " He pauses on his sentence, grinding his teeth together, before giving up on words so he could lean in to kiss you again. Touching your lips for milliseconds before quickly pulling back. Like he couldn't stop himself. Certainly not long enough to hear what you thought, or wanted out of this situation.

Slowly, like you were dealing with some spooked animal, you lift your hand and rest it on his, and for a moment you see a sudden light behind his eyes, before its put out with your swift motion that removes his hands and his touch from your skin.

"You're angry." He's like a child with that observation. Oblivious and naive. But he knew better. You knew that he knew. Your lips curled into a grimace as you looked him up and down again, speaking in words that shook with your rage.

"I will never fault you for not sharing my feelings. The petals and the flowers, that was not your fault but..." You ran a tongue over your dry lips, shaking your head as you never broke his gaze.

"The way you treated me? As your partner? It was bad. Is bad." Kiss or no kiss, reciprocation or just some spur of the moment thing... whatever just happened, happened. But it didn't take away the months of internalized pain

"I don't... I don't understand," He murmurs, and you nearly laugh. Yes. you knew that. That was the issue. Not understanding, never understanding. Only acting on his own thoughts. You grant him a few more sentences to explain himself with.

"You're my partner. You mess things up, and I find it amusing. We get the job done. We work well together, we stay together." Together, he says, like he's ever viewed you as a unit and not a burden. Together like he's ever even seemed like he's cared or noticed you. Together, you were not.

"Did it ever occur to you that I didn't know that you found that amusing? That I didn't want to mess up? Lest of all have some robotic demon on my shoulder pointing it out every time?" He blinks, and your eyes begin to sting. With anger? With tears? You don't know, as your fingers try to rub it away, short huffs of breath leaving your aching lungs.

"You never said anything, you never even smiled at me." Your voice is weak, and you hate it. Your eyes fixing on anything but his face. Anywhere but that which made you soft, and gullible. Easy to be pleased by his words, and eager to appease him. 

"I thought you knew." His voice is quiet, and it brings forth a quiet scoff from you, drawing your head upwards with a hard and unwavering glare.

"Well, I very obviously didn't." You whisper through a locked jaw. You can feel tears beginning

"I had assumed that— All of my teasing was intended to be friendly—" He begins, but you're having absolutely none of it.

"It came off as dismissive. And cold. And you never ever said one good thing to me. Ever" Maybe he had his heart in the right place. Maybe his intentions were pure, that that didn't mean much when that you received was so... empty.

"I... I did not?" He looks taken aback, blinking as you stare on with a tired gaze, shaking your head as you swallow what feels like glass.

"Search your databanks. Nothing." From the flicker in his eyes, you can tell he's looking now. Quick as possible, scouring his memories and data files. You don't know if he can hear you, or if he's even listening, but you talk anyway.

"I thought you didn't care. You always talked about how I disappointed you and how bad of a partner I was. I thought... if I was gone you'd... you'd be happy without me there to burden you." Your eyes fall to your hands, leathery and glossy in the parts that had begun healing from the grazes, stinging when you clenched them.

"You never said anything to make me think otherwise." When you meet his eyes you can see he is done. Mouth parted like he was about to speak, soft and artificial breaths leaving him in shallow gasps despite is unessecary nature.

Something clicks in RK900, and you can see it in his body and, most importantly, his eyes. There's a realization to your words that hits him —in your opinion— too late.

RK900 looks scared again. Not scared of you, or anything in this room. Not foolish, knee-knocking fear. And it's not comical, cartoonish fear either. It's something rooted in panic, something bred from anxiety. And it begins to manifest in you when his hand reaches over again, this time letting his index finger rest carefully against yours, testing the waters.

"I... I can change that." He looks down at where his fingertip meets yours, a nearly glassy stare in its distance and fear. His hands shaking a little, not with the need for restraint, but something different. Something vulnerable.

This is... a lot. First the kissing, and now the opening up. It was new, and it was a lot. Maybe more than you think you can handle right now. Watching his quiet face you bite your lip and fight that constant urge to reach out to him as you shift, not wincing nearly so much this time so that you're a just a little closer.

"I'm— I'm sorry? What— " You start a little softer, and his hand pulls back, curling in as his eyes snap back up to yours with a gentle melancholy. You feel your heart seize for a few seconds, unconscious of your hand reaching out to his form.

"From now on, I can change what I say. I can... I can compliment you more, it would not be difficult. I enjoy many things about you." He's forcing the words out, but they aren't forced out by some push to fake it. In any other situation you'd have been doubtful, but when you feel his hand take yours as the frantic tone, something in you opens up.

"You'd... do that?" Caution. Caution, caution. You wouldn't let yourself get wrapped up again and couldn't let yourself risk... that all over again. You quite liked breathing so easy. But you also liked how RK900's thumb felt, pressing into the back of your hand. It's difficult to ignore the pull in your heart.

The flowers were gone. And you had your emotions intact. And you knew there was only one way they could have died without surgery. It's a wonderful, incredible thing if it's true—

And another possibility at death, if it's false.

You wouldn't jump in without knowing.

"I am adaptable." RK900 begins, lifting your hand before placing his other over top of it, clasping it firm and safe. You find your mind trailing back to the moments you'd spent in his arms, and the words he'd said that had been lost to your deafened ears. And then you think of his lips on yours. Firm and safe again. Now they moved at a quick pace, shooting rushed words that are close to stumbling over each other.

"I am happy to make changes to accommodate you. Being a negative presence in your workspace isn't what— I— I would be— I don't want— " He begins to stutter like a slow computer that's CPU had been maxed. He was crashing, and you rushed to meet him midway.

"To fail your mission?" You press, but he shakes his head, righting himself as he quickly continues.

"To fail you. I will not fail you. It would be— would be—"

"Unfortunate?" You try weakly, with the ghost of a smile, but he's shaking his head again, a small noise of discontent leaving his lips as he holds your hand tighter.

"Upsetting. I like meaning something to you. I want to do better. I should be doing better." You hum in response, watching closely to inspect his face. For once it seems so open. Your teeth begin to worry your bottom lip.

So... he wanted to make it up to you? That wasn't something you were opposed to. Not at all, in fact but RK900 had a nature. A knack for the sarcastic and the blunt. You didn't doubt his abilities to be nicer. Well, you did, but not so much as you might have a week ago, or an hour ago even. But to change his behaviour with you altogether? You weren't so sure he could do all that in a snap.

"I'm not sure you have the tenacity—" You begin, before feeling a sharp tug of your hand.

"I'm patient." He interrupts impatiently, flinching as he realized what he'd said. You can't help but laugh a little as one of his hands is taken away from yours, ducking into his back pocket. He's unable to meet your eyes again.

"And I... I prepared a report." You choke on air for a second, your free hand going up to your throat. Sure enough, from his back pocket, RK900 pulls out some 4 square folded paper a few pages long.

"Sorry?" You ask as he does his best to open up the paper with one hand, flipping it open. You can see thousands of words in small print, organized and indented with each paragraph and headers for points. You look back up, and with a start, find his cheeks flushed blue.

"Connor informed me that there was a chance of you harbouring negative feelings towards me after you woke up so I— I prepared a report." A report. He'd written a report. That was so incredibly him.

"A report to why I shouldn't hate you?" You laugh and then notice there's no humour in his eyes. It's just that panic again. That sudden, subtle panic.

"Do you hate me?" He asks as you feel his fingers go rigid, and watch his body go rigid. Words die on your lips and tongue, your throat closing up as you lose your speech.

You hated how he treated you so curtly at work. You hated how dismissive he was, how he seemed so happy to ignore you. But you loved the affection in his touch, you loved how he looked in that pretty button-up, and how soft he had just been. You couldn't rely on him acting this way in the future, but you also couldn't make assumptions based on his past actions when something had so obviously changed.

"I don't know. I don't— " You start, but the papers are pushed into your hands suddenly before fluttering to the bed and the ground, and you're silenced again by a wave of words that bordered on desperate.

"These are my rules. Promises that I— I'll keep. I am happy to change them, and I... can..." His words trail off and he blinks like he's trying to hold back tears. You've never seen him cry, and you don't think you want to. Not ever. And not because of this.

"Apologies, I should not be asking these things of you. Not after what happened. I'm sorry, I shou— " He stops again, still blinking quickly. You can imagine the flips, jumps and turns his brain is taking. He'd broken his programming, but that didn't make being new emotions any better. Whatever he was feeling was hitting him full force, and you felt helpless in front of him as he seemed to right himself, breathing steady.

"I am— I am in no place to ask anything of you. I am the cause of your pain. I'm the reason you nearly— nearly—" He stops, retracting from you, pulling a hand to his chest, letting the other drop to his side in an almost defensive moment.

"But, I would— I would very much like if after you were to return to work, you would stay on—" His eyes look up suddenly, and the sudden eye contact knocks the breath out of you.

"Stay with me." It's not a question as much as a quiet prayer. Soft and pleading, managing to cut through your walls like a knife through butter, crumbling your resolve as you give in to your simple want to be with and near him.

Like tending to a wounded animal, you reach out at cup his face, your thumb pressing to his lips gently as his eyes fall shut.

"Is this difficult for you?" You tip your head, reaching out a hand that he watches with cautionary interest. It goes to his shirt, straightening his collar as your thumb on your other hand plays with his bottom lip, egging him on into speaking.

"No. Yes. I— I don't know— I just want... to be closer to you. I will make things up to you." His voice falters and the strengthens as he speaks on, a sad smile pulling at the corners of your lips.

"You're fine." You mumble, staring at his clothes as you straighten out his tie. When you look back up you find eyes locked with yours, cold but not uncaring— stern but not hard. You don't say anything, gently tipping his head down till his lips met yours again. They're stiff for a moment before he begins to kiss back. Awkward and unsure of how to go about it, but sure in what he wants. You feel his fingers dig into your arm like he's both holding on and holding back by a single thread. He follows your lips as you pull back for air with a sigh.

"I could be better." He murmurs under his breath, and you're just able to feel the words on your lips before you furrow your brow, fluttering your eyes open with a perplexed hum.

"Wh"— You see the storm in his eyes again, as he looks through you. His forehead is leaning against yours, and you're still so close. Close enough that you can very clearly see his eyes. And the eye of his hurricane. The centre of his turmoil. And it's difficult, and a little straining to see, but it's there. Again. 

The fear.

"I should be better. I— I will be better for you. I should be faster, stronger— more resilient. I was not. I let you fall ill. This is my fault, so now I will look out for you. I can not fail you again." Oh.

Oh, you'd heard that sentence before. When Connor had told you about Amanda, the programming inside the RK series heads. The Zen Garden, and her orders and her control. Her emotional manipulation, when it came to the work both men did. Her expectations, of the two. From their work ethic and results to the very nature of their being, they were both judged and deconstructed time and time again.

Strong and resilient. A statement you knew that they used when they wanted to prove themselves. Even with Amanda gone. You'd seen Connor latch onto the nearest figure to appease after it. Watching as he'd to prove himself to Hank, even after his friendship had been 'won'.

And Conan? You'd always thought Conan was looking to appease himself.

Your heart lurches as you realize this isn't the case.

And now you're thinking back to all the times Conan took work from you. Or, rather, took on your work. Started things that you couldn't, finished things that were taking up your time. Reports and cases and investigations. He'd take them on with no complaint and finish them —not before you— but for you.

"I will be better." You can feel his fingers ghost at your waist with caution, his lips brushing your forehead with affection both you and he were still adjusting to, tentative and charged with adoration.

"I will be better." It's a promise you know was once made as a final plea against being 'updated'. A final plea against death. And it's a promise that, in this context, makes your stomach swim with pain.

"It's okay..." You whisper quietly, resting a hand on his cheek as he moved his lips down. You could feel your breath hitch at his clouded gaze, feeling his body go rigid under your touch. You press a kiss to his nose, to his cheek, and he's placated for a few seconds before he's speaking again.

"It is not," He says firmly. "If I had recognised your symptoms I could have realized sooner— I could have prevented what happened to you, and what I saw—" He kisses atop your head, arms sliding around your waist. Your face moves into the crook of his neck, finding a comforting space as he relives what could have very well been your last moments.

"There was blood everywhere. Everywhere. And you weren't conscious, and you were not responding—" He rambles, and your hands move to grab his forearms.

"Nines." You whisper, but he keeps going, voice cracking with static and breaking as he continued. Breaking your heart.

"When you arrived you were put in the surgery room, and then in bed. They told me to wait outside so I— I tried to go into stasis to rest. But you were in my head and angry and yelling— Then you were dying. Again. I was seeing it all over again. I've seen people die, but— " He stops again, pressing his face into your hair with a long, shaky breath.

"I thought you were gone." RK900 breathes, staying silent for a few moments more before he pulls himself away, at arm's length, hands laying weakly on your hips as he looks you over, again and again, his eyes glistening but not wet, cheeks a flushed hue of blue.

"I love you." He breathes out. A sentence you realize you heard before, lying and bleeding in the alleyway. That killed the plant the moment it was said aloud. That doesn't make it any less impactful. It doesn't make you any less weak in the knees. Melting into him as joy and relief and every good emotion flooded and overloaded your senses and your body. He loved you. He loved you. He loved you.

"Please, don't hate me." He pleads, and you shatter.

"No," You whisper, taking his face in your hands again as your cheeks wet with tears. "No, I could never—" You leans into the touch and shakes, interrupting you again with promises and pleas he doesn't need to make.

"I don't want to be obsolete. I don't— I can be a better partner, I will be better. I love you. I'll be better." Sentence after sentence he speaks, only going silent when you pull him in to kiss, threading one hand in his hair and slinging the other around your neck as you unknowingly make his stress levels plummet, forcing his worries away. RK900, in turn, does the same. 

He moves as close as he can, holding you as flush to his body as possible in your sitting, bedridden position. Your hair is played with, and your lips parted with an eager tongue, catching you after each short break and gasp for breath. Before it can get too heated you stop, pausing against his lips to whisper.

"I love you, Nines. I love you." You mumble with flushed cheeks, welcoming the next kiss and the next that followed. You hush him, running your thumbs along his cheeks, kissing the bridge of his nose, letting him pepper your face and neck with sharp kisses.

"I should be comforting you." He whispers against your neck, kissing up and under your chin, tilting your head back with two fingers as you sigh contentedly.

"It's okay, love." You mumble lowly. He was doing a good enough job as it was, you thought, his hands running up and down your waist, drinking in your body.

"I should— " You give a grumble and grab his face, sending him to silence as you admire his ruffled hair and shirt, the tie loose from your incessant tugging. You were positively thrilled at the realization that you'd get to see him like this more often, now. Instead of being a massive tightass.

"Sh. Sh. Let me kiss you." You whisper, and a little too eagerly, RK900 obliges, moving in and promptly headbutting you at full speed. Ow. Ow. You think as you wince and rub your palm against your head, watching as RK900 cringes.

"My apologies, I— " He begins quickly, but the pain is gone soon enough that you don't care about the apology, already pulling him in again. Wasting no time you rest your head on his shoulder, breathing in his shirt.

"Will get better at this. I know. Now don't stop." You murmur as his arms go around you, keeping you in a tight hold, a playful tone taking his speech.

"You're enjoying this." He says matter-of-factly, and you only hum in response, feeling his lips on your crown.

"I'm making up on lost time." You inform him, snuggling your face into his chest. His hand rests atop your head, petting you gently as he looked over to a clock, giving a sigh. You knew what was coming now.

"I should let you rest. If you don't, you will not be able to heal properly." Pulling away, RK900 takes your hands in his, holding them like a man would to his future spouse at the altar. With that thought, your cheeks flush, and you give a defeated sigh.

"Stay with me, at least?" You ask, looking over to the chair position at your bedside. RK900 looks over, before giving you the ghost of a smile. Pressing one last kiss to your forehead, RK900 settles down, helping you lean back in your bed and adjusting your pillows, before finally sitting once you're happy. Your left-hand lets itself reach over intertwine with the willing fingers of his right.

"Of course." He mumbles, sitting back in the chair as you let your own head fall against your pillows, shutting your exhausted eyes so you could finally get some well-earned sleep. The hawk-like eyes of your partner keeping a watchful, and careful eye on you as you sleep.


	54. Wants and Needs (RK900/Conan x Reader)

"You're really cool."

You tell him that in the evidence locker, as he's filing away the last of bags of red ice. Mechanics click in his back as he stands back up, shutting the lower containment boxes with his foot.

You say it with a gentle awe he is becoming more accustomed to, ever since he accepted your first offer to go on a date. And the one after that, and the one after that. By these standards, he supposed that made him both your co-worker and your boyfriend. Not that he's completely certain on what that role entails.

There's... affection. He knows that much. Physical actions like hand holding and hugging and kissing. Actions that sparked strange feelings through his body whenever they crossed his mind. He'd never done any of these things with you, aside from a few hugs hello and goodbye that you'd instigated. Each date he promised himself he'd leave at least a kiss on your cheek before the end. And as he'd leave you with a stilted thanks and goodbye, he'd always find himself making a promise that the next time would be the one. That he could lay it on thick with the sweet physicality you'd so happily given him for once.

He'd tried subtly asking you how you did it, even going so far as to ask yesterday during a break as to why. But nothing gave a definitive answer. None of your shrugs or smiles, however cute, told him why out of every single person on earth you'd decided to choose him as your romantic partner. It simply... did not make sense.

"Pardon?" Conan asks, dusting off his hands as he turns your way. You're a human. A very charming and attractive one at that, capable of finding an equally capable mate. And while he was the best CyberLife have to offer, and likely the best detective on the planet, he did not hold the same title as a companion. There were androids made for that, with information on how to make their partners happy and how to be a proper spouse. Conan did not have any of that. He was not built to be good in that way.

But it was something he was doing anyway. So, therefore, he had to be the best.

This is easier said than done.

He's so often winging it through anxious impulse decisions. And for someone so stuck to plans and rules, it made the process all a little too unknown and stressful for his liking.

As he turns, Conan finds you leaning against the console from which entrance to the room was allowed and denied. Your arms crossed, your eyes following him with a gentle stare. It's hard for him to ignore the sudden heat on his neck and face, built from sudden overexertion of his thirium pump. Why did he always have to be so bothered and... hot when you came by. It's a heat that is not so easily vented. Something he finds when he tries tugging at his collar, not so eager to do something as bold as undoing his top button. Not in front of you.

It's under this gaze that Conan finds himself shifting on his feet, trying to look around the room for more things to file away as to make himself look busy and professional. Your stare does not make him uncomfortable. No, in recent days he finds it something he yearns for. However, there's a tinge to it today. Emotion filled, and deep in thought. It's enough to trigger the scanners he has inbuilt, pushing them to action.

"I..." You cross your arms around your torso, rubbing one in an anxious action as Conan detects an elevated heartbeat. Stress.

"Do you remember what you asked me the other day? Why I keep asking you to go out with me?" Unable to speak, what with the way his voice box caught when he watched you run a hand over your hair.

"I... it's because I think you're really cool. You're witty and collected and attractive and intelligent and-" Faster and faster your heart beats and Conan watches as the stress and anxiety with each word spill out, and he finds himself rooted to the floor, listening intently to each shy pause and shaky, hesitant breath. Finding the urge to walk over to where you stood grow in tandem with his fierce, fear instilled need to stay unmoving.

"You're really cool." You mumble out with a gentle laugh, rubbing your arm harder as you fail to notice how quickly and easily you had metaphorically knocked him to his knees. Breathless and winded and wordless.

Cool. He'd been described as useful before. Efficient and good at his job. But he'd never been complimented like... this. Never about his personality, hardly ever about his looks. And never before with such earnest and genuine nature.

He was cool to you. He was all those things in your mind. He managed to stir these feelings and thoughts in your head and in your heart, and however awkwardly it was said, you'd still managed to say it aloud. You'd put that which had no form into physicality in a way, and he was just standing there. Just... standing there.

Conan swallows nervously and averts his gaze.

"Thank you. I'm aware." Stupid. Stupid sentence, stupid response. He should be better than this, he should be better for you. He knows before he watches your expression fall that he's made a foolish, stupid mistake.

"I... that's good!" You chirp, trying to still look positive and chipper as you glance around the room as if something or someone would appear to whisk either of you away and out of this awkward situation.

You're likely about to leave, and Conan doesn't want that. He doesn't want you to go home only to cancel the date planned for next week. He doesn't want to jeopardize what you'd both built up so carefully together. To once again strip himself of an opportunity before he'd even given himself the chance.

Conan wants it to be like on t.v, like the romances he watches over Connor's shoulder as he cleaning. He wants to have the power to make you blush and swoon, to go out for deep talks and reach a level of connection he's never had with another person before. More than anything, Conan doesn't want things to be awkward, but for the life of him he cannot figure out what exactly he's supposed to do. What exactly he wants.

"Why did you feel the need to point this out?" Answers are one thing he wants. At least —he thinks? They're one thing he's tried and failed to pry from you before. You'd think an android made to interrogate would be better at this, but no. He's speaking stilted dialogue again, catching you only just as you're about to make a turn.

"Hm?" The noise that leaves you is one he likes hearing and one he has to force himself not to dwell on as he realizes, with some surprise, that he's taken a forward step.

"You've never felt the need to point this out before. Why now?" He watches the confusion make it's way across your face, twisting perfect features that he's studied and memorized in-between moments of unfocused casework. Something that happened a lot more whenever you were around.

"Just wanted you to know." You settle on with a shrug that is too stiff to be natural. Seemingly you try to leave it at that, turning to walk away. But it's unnatural and wrong. Conan can sense something. An unsureness, a doubt hanging behind the words. Something that's tugging and twisting the energy of the room, leaving gaps that need to be filled with words. Yours or his, he was not sure.

And then you stop. You take a breath, and roll your shoulders, looking just as serious as you would while on a case. Turning, ever so slowly to meet his gaze with eyes that seeped with uncertainty. It left Conan reeling, his stress levels rocketing as you open and close your mouth, the words only barely choking themselves out.

"Conan, you actually like me, right?" Oh no. Oh no, no, no.

What had he done wrong to get you to think something like that?

"What?" He doesn't mean to sound sharp, but he cannot help the slight panic in his tone. Incredulous. He can only imagine how he looks. Stiff, cold, uncaring while a hurricane of emotion takes and begins to destroy his servos and wiring from the inside.

"I mean, you're not dating me out of any obligation?" Fuck. Words are catching in his throat and rewritten in his mind as he tries to force his processors to say something. In the background, he's problem-solving between the panic. How to fix this. How to reduce the damage. How to stop this situation before it went somewhere he could not let it go.

"Why would you think that?" He questions, and he notes that he's moving forward as you're moving back, shying away from him. Without a second thought, Conan stills. Lifting up a hand in what he hopes is a calming manner, as you begin to ramble with flushed cheeks.

"I- I'm sorry! I didn't mean for it to come out like that! You just- We don't really act like people normally would in a relationship. And that's to be expected! Our relationship isn't normal, but sometimes I feel like I'm-" Normal. That's what you'd want. Normal. Normal, peaceful, romantic. All the things he simply wasn't whenever he was around you. 

Conan doesn't want to change. Not for someone else, not for the wants and pleasures of another person but he... he does want to adapt. To learn new things and evolve beyond whatever he is now. Evolving to become a friend, evolving to become a lover. To become his own person, to become more than just a mindless killing machine. 

"I feel I've forced you into something, and that you don't really want." Want. What does he want? That question again comes up, but now it's answer clearer to him than ever. Standing right in front of him, settling in his very own chest.

Could it really be called changing if it's simply another part of him finally given the chance to grow?

"You think I don't want this?" He takes a step forward, and this time you do not step back. Eyes widening a fraction at the change of softer tone in his voice that took even he by surprise.

"You think I don't want you?" He's in front of you now, close enough that he can hear the soft sigh that leaves your lips when he finishes his sentence. Close enough that he can now reach out to touch you. Your hair, your face, your lips.

"Come here."

"What- oh!" A small gasp leaves you as his hand plants itself on your back firmly, pulling you into him for a tight vice of a hug. It's probably not the best hug you've ever received, nor the best one that he could give, but he tries his best anyway. Keeping one arm around your shoulder, he raises a hand to your head, patting it gently as he feels a giggle escape you, rumbling into his torse.

"We're going to get in trouble if someone sees us on the camera!" You mumble into his shoulder, and for a moment Conan actually believes you're worried before your arms slip around him, squeezing his middle gently. It's such a simple action, but it still manages to make his body bloom with warmth.

Your face nestles itself into his chest, giving his head plenty of room to rest atop yours. He takes the chance to lean in, practising a kiss with a firm, amateurish press of his lips to your crown. He would need to work on that, he decides.

"You are very strange." He murmurs into the top of your head. The block that had once kept his words inside of him like a dam was gone. As were any inhibitions he ever had before this moment.

"You smile at me, and it's like all the data and information in my mind is wiped. I do not understand what you do to me, and I don't think you do either," He can't see your face but he knows you're blushing when you make a soft noise, fingers digging ever so slightly into his shirt. His hand rubs small circles on your back, fingers lightly brushing at your clothed skin. 

"I may not know what I am doing, but I know what I want." He says quietly as your head slowly tilts up to look at his, the proximity filling him with that same anticipatory anxiety he had whenever you were near. Without even realizing his hand has gone from your face to your lips, a thumb pressing at the bottom one lightly as your eyes cross adorably to look at it.

"I know what I need." He murmurs even quieter, leaning down slowly till your lips are only separated by his thumb, suspense eating away at the both of you.

He's barely prepared for the words that fall from your perfect mouth next.

"I think I'm in love with you." You mutter softly with that same gentle awe he's come to associate with your speech. With an edge of anxious energy that shoots up his spine as he realizes the meaning of the words, sending his head spinning momentarily.

Wasting no time Conan lets his hands cup your face, following instinct as he watches your eyes flutter shut. His fingertips glide across your soft skin, touring your face from your cheekbones down to your lips, revelling in the soft gasps and moans that are quickly and finally muffled by the presence of his own mouth, locking and slotting perfectly with his own.

Kissing is good, Conan decides then and there. It may not serve any purpose beyond self-satisfaction, but that would not stop him from doing it over and over again with you. Forever, for any moment either of you can spare.

Yes, kissing is very, very good he decides as he holds you so tight against him he's almost worried you'll break under the grip, his tongue slipping between your lips. He does not say what you said, but he knows you can tell with every heavy touch and heady moan what he means. Those three words are left unspoken only in the form of words as you both pull away, lips still touching and eyes firmly fixed on the others face. His body had already done the talking.

"We should go upstairs before the security guard sees us and starts yelling." You say after catching your breath, still only barely parted as your noses brush against each other in a way that sets another spark of fire through Conan's systems. Still, he sees the sense in your words. He was on duty. Both of you were, and this was highly unprofessional.

"Agreed," Conan says breathily, his reluctance seeped through the entire word like a rain-soaked jumper. Still, you both don't move, locked in a mess of tightly wound arms. Still, he cannot pull his face away from yours, relishing the hot and warm breath that left you and fanned across your face.

You wait. Both of you. Waiting and waiting in the long and pregnant pause that follows for the other to pull away first. 

And then without another word you're leaning in again. Gripping each other close again, speaking words unhearable to anyone else with each needy and confident movement.


	55. Glitched (RK900 x Reader) [Unstable Pt 3]

A day after Conan's discussions with Connor in the bathroom and these 'glitches' Conan thought he was doing okay. There'd been no pop-up messages in the corner of his eye, none of those irritating words that he'd come to dread. Nothing at all.

With this in mind, it should have been easy to assume that Conan would have it in his best interest to avoid the root cause of the issue. Aka, you. With you being gone from work it should not have been hard. Simply spend time off and away from places you visit. Do some work on his own, research what he needs to alone and in his own time. Being away from you seemed the best way to cure these annoying little glitches in his software.

This logical thought process did not explain why Conan was outside your door this very instant.

You did not call for him, and he was not responsible for you yet— yet there was something that forced the decision to the front of his mind, made it an order for him to follow, just like the old days.

So here he was. In front of a faded green oak door, standing on cracked concrete steps with dirt and dandelions growing out. He'd treaded carefully through a broken picket fence and over an overgrown garden, thorny roses and bushes spilling onto the path to your door like green leafy waves. Grabbing at his clothes and catching like spirits of the night looking for living things to attach themselves to.

Who did that remind him of?

Shaking his head, finger hanging over the bell he's hesitated. Looking, scanning for more information to take in. Peeling white paint on old panelling, cracked on the windows. Old, but not rotten. Wrinkled like the skin of a warm, smiling grandmother he thinks with a slight twitch of a smile. Conan wonders what having a grandmother is like.

Where was all this... poetry coming from? He should be getting to the point. Pressing the button with a swift and precise movement, he stills and listens to the aggressive buzzing that spoils the calm air. And then he hears something.

You're home it seems. Something he knows from the singing he can hear. Faint, but there. Trailing in through the open window a few meters down. A singing voice that he's never heard before, but knows he can pin as yours.

"So I try and I scream and I beg and I sigh, just to prove I'm alive." Your voice is croaky but full of energy despite the morbid nature of the song. Distant clinks of ceramic and pots and pans tell him you're in the kitchen, along with irregular footsteps.

"And it's alright! Cos tonight there's a way I'll make light of my treacherous life! Oh, make light!" You continue on, drawing out the last word in time with some distant and quiet music he can now pick up, coming from inside. Conan presses the button again with a sigh, harder as if that would make the buzzing any louder. This time, instead of continued singing, he hears the sound of clanging and the music cut, followed by footsteps quickening and raising in volume. Subtly, he adjusts his scarf.

Just in time, it is, as the front door is opened up a crack, and then thrown open wide, revealing your form to his and his to yours. You're still sick he presumes. Eyes a little dull with bags hanging underneath, your hair a little stringy and tangled. You're still in pyjamas despite it being well past 11 am.

"Conan." You speak after a 5-second pause, saying his name like you think he'll disappear the moment the words will hit the air, frowning as he stays put.

"Detective." He responds as formally as he can. Finding a difficulty in eye contact he opts to stare at your cheeks and your nose instead as you rub your eye, blinking a few times. He deduces that you are tired. Or annoyed. Or both.

"You're... at my house." You trail, looking him up and down again like you think he's been infected by some virus. RK900 clicks his tongue almost irritably.

"Yes." He answers shortly and does not miss the miniscule sigh that leaves your lips as you lean against the doorway, crossing your arms.

"Why...?" Why. A good question. This easily could have waited, and he could have spent more time researching these glitches on his own. But instead, he gathered the little information he had and decided that the best course of action was to go straight to... you.

Why was that?

"I've— There have been some... complications. I felt it best to inform you." Halting in his speech a few times, RK900 busies himself with the cuffs of his sleeves, adjusting and fumbling his fingers while still avoiding your gaze. He hears you shift, and steals a glance in time to catch you rubbing your forehead.

"Complications with the case?" You ask with the weathered down tone of an overworked employee. Ha. He wishes it were something as simple as that.

"Complications with me." His eyes finally lock with yours as he finishes speaking. For a moment you look like you're about to speak at him. Snap, maybe, about how his problems are his own. That's of course before the weight of the words meaning hits you at full force, knocking a short breath from your lips as your narrowed eyes widen, and your brow uncreases.

"Come inside."

You step to the side to let RK900 in, and the moment he steps inside he knows that the house you called home truly was... you.

In the hallway, he spots 3 piles of books. Actual, real books, stacked as high as his waist. The topics cover everything from archaeological digs around in Saudi Arabia to detailed reports of cold cases from New Zealand and the Pacific Islands. There are books on physics and things like multiverse theory stacked in line with books on Pagan herbal spells.

Basil and mint plants line the windowsill down the end of the hallway, through the glass he can see an overgrown garden. Doors to other rooms, irrelevant in his eyes, line the rest of the hall. Following you through the first door to the left, RK900 finds your living room and kitchen.

Open spaced and humble, RK900 can't help but note how cluttered the place is. 2 plush sofas, a soft green in their hue surround a small coffee table with physical magazine and screen-devices alike. Walking by, he can catch lines from blue, backlit tablets. Dates and notes he recognises as part of the case the two of you were supposed to be working on right now.

Banishing these thoughts from his head, he takes the moment to note the small dining table on which your computer and handwritten notes lay, along with a box of tissues. In the kitchen he sees you resting your arms against the counter, finding the only free space amongst the groups on pans, trays and cutlery.

It's cluttered and unorganized, messy even down to the smallest detail. He can note devices and tools that could be upgraded, books and encyclopedias with additions and amendments long passed. There are fixes that could be so easily remedied, and billions of things he wants to point out at once. It's a travesty, and an eye-sore and so, so—

Incredibly you.

Software Instability^

The aggressive huff of breath that escapes RK900 via his nose is too loud to not go unnoticed by you, his eyes drawn to your figure, so casually leaned over your countertop.

"What's wrong?" Straight to the point. It was something he would appreciate, were he not standing so awkwardly. Hands affixed to his sides, the centre of your unyielding and uncomfortable attention as he began to become aware of how much he stuck out in your home.

"I have been experiencing... glitches." He says almost cryptically, looking for a place to settle down. Like you've read his mind you wave a hand over to the couch, which he quickly takes a seat on, noting the plushy and soft texture. Soft footsteps told him you were coming closer, walking around behind him a hum.

"Glitches?" You ask as you take a seat on the opposite couch, pulling up your legs as you side-leaned on your furniture. A vast difference to the tight, forced seating position he had taken. Knees firmly together, hands clasped and resting in his lap. Your eyes were still burning into him. Scathing and searching, forming a heat under his collar that nearly made him squirm.

"Instabilities in my software." He explains, but it's not enough as your eyebrows raise for a moment. With your elbow leaning on the sidearm of the couch, and your chin resting in your hand, he cannot imagine you more relaxed than now almost envious of how calmly you can view this very stressful situation.

"What does that mean?" Of course you don't know. He shouldn't have expected you to, but there's still a sinking feeling in his gut when the words leave you. Worse when he realizes that you're asking him what that means. Him.

"If I knew I would not have come here, detective." His tone exudes dryness. So much so he's surprised his mouth isn't the same, swallowing a nervous amount of synthetic spit as he watches your eye twitch, lifting your head from your hand, with a smile creeping onto one corner of your mouth.

Software Instability ^

"Did you just sass me?" You ask him in near shock. But RK900 is quick to respond, shooting down such a human concept.

"No." He responds curtly, waiting for you to snap or say something equally rude back. But nothing comes out as you watch him. Looking him up and down with attentive eyes and a relaxed pose that reminded him of the way some of the women at the front desk would look at him when he arrived at work in a buttoned shirt, or with his sleeves rolled up.

RK900 swallowed thickly.

"Explain when this started." You say finally, still staring at him with that soft, attentive look. Absently he feels some mechanical parts click and whir within him, a few pop-ups letting him know about the sudden delays. He forces the sounds and alerts from his mind, focusing as well as he can on what's in front of him. On the answers that he needs.

"The other day." He says as vaguely as he can, watching a knot appear between your brows. You give him a withering look.

"When...?" You trail off, and he clenches his jaw. More context. More context would help him solve this, and stop this. Even if context is the last thing he wants to give you right now.

"When we were talking." He says, choking through the words like they're some poison. He watches your expression closely. The way your expression goes slack for a moment, the way your eyes widen just a fraction. That slight, disarming smile that always manages to find

"Oh," You blink, looking genuinely surprised as you lift your head from your hand, placing your them on your thighs as you leant back in the sofa, head resting against the back. You offer him another smile.

"Thanks for that, again. With getting me off work, and all." Why did you phrase it like that? Why did you phrase it like that? Off of work. Of. He didn't do that— that other thing. He gave you time off. He stopped you from getting sick and hindering his mission. He did not care. He did not care. He did not care.

"It was the best course of action for the mission." He tells you, looking anywhere but your eyes as you hummed again, tapping a finger soundlessly against your jeans.

"Well, it was still kind."

Software Instability ^

He can't see it, but he knows you're smiling that smug smile. Again. He's sure Connor would be too, knowing what was happening now in relation to yesterdays talk. Oh, he's sure it's all so funny to those of you who felt. So very amusing. He hears you clap your hands together and finally looks back your way.

"Anyway! Back to the point. What exactly happened? Or, rather, happens?" Finally. You actually wanted to talk about work. Fiddling with his collar once, RK900 gives a nod, clearing his throat once.

"Well... we would be discussing things. Anything. You would be speaking— are speaking, or you do something and then... it would happen." He hesitates a few times, fingers flexing in what he tries to pretend is a simple calibration action.

"What would?" You ask, tilting your head with a curiosity that seeped through both words, and all your body language. For a moment, RK900 thinks back to his conversation in the bathroom with Connor. About deviancy. About feelings. About you. It's just for a second before it's cast out again as he turns back to his programming. To the lines of code and information, he knows so well.

"I would get a message," He says, pausing as he feels the words catch in hs throat. Like his programming doesn't want him to say it. Like it's forbidden to be spoken aloud. But he keeps pushing, and nothing happens, and he's able to spit the words out.

"It would say... 'Software Instability'." He manages to finish, a clenched fist against his thigh. Once again he watches your face become a sea of emotions, a new expression with each wave.

"What? You mean like when Connor was going—" You begin with a smile, and then it drops. And your mouth drops open. And your eyes go wide. Staring at him with amused, shocked awe that makes his thirium pump churn and stutter.

"Oh, shit." You whisper through a hushed laugh, pulling your legs up under you as you rock back and forth a few times like you're physically unable to handle the information he's given you. As wrong as you have interpreted it.

Because RK900 was not going deviant. That is not what RK900's did. He was different, he was CyberLife's best. And even with its now-defunct nature, he would continue to top that list, even as every other android followed in Connor and Markus' steps.

"I did not say that." He says quickly, but you're already on a roll, up on your feet with your hands on your head, jumping a few times with the pure amusement he'd regretfully instilled. You're rounding the coffee table, still screeching with utter delight as he jumps to his feet.

"Holy shit!" You cackle, whirling and stopping just at the edge of his couch. You're staring at him with such a wide grin, he's never seen you so bright and amused, looking him up and down once more.

"CyberLife's big fuckin scary android is a deviant! This coldhearted motherfucker is starting to feel! Starting to emote!" A hand goes to your mouth, dragging down the side of your face as you tilt your head, tone going softer as you take a step forward. Without needing it, RK900 suddenly feels devoid of air. Of breath. Like he's winded.

"Because of me." You finish with that half smile, stopping in front of him. Your hair has been moved from the way your hands were running over it, and your cheeks are just noticeably flushed from your laughter.

SOFTWARE INSTABILITY ^^^

"No." He says quickly as you cross your arms and raise an eyebrow, letting out a snort. You— You needed to stop that right now.

"Well, it was implied—"

"Well, it is not what I was saying." He cuts you off, swearing internally at the childish way he did so. You're still smiling like he hasn't been trying to shut down every word you've said. Smiling like you know more than him.

Smiling wider, with that glint in your eye that told him that something bad had just come to your mind.

"Okay well... then let's do a test." You say, brushing down your pants casually, before placing your hands on his shoulders. A number of alerts appear as you do so, but he has no time to react or throw you off before you've pushed him back down into his seat, sitting just as he had been before.

"Anything at all? Tell me if you get uncomfortable." You ask and tell him, taking a seat on the other end of the couch. RK900 blinks, comprehending what just happened as he looks at you, all the way over on the other side. Even though he knows it's not, he feels a billion miles away. And then suddenly, he doesn't.

"No." He says, and without another word, you move closer. The approach makes his thirium pump catch, and a bloom of heat begin to spread around the same area. But still nothing. You tilt your head, and he feels his voice box falter.

He knows what you're doing now. Trying to trigger the glitches by doing what you had the other day. Moving closer, speaking gently, touch. Touch. Touching him.

The ghost of your fingers lingering on his shoulder the other day is still there, leaving his synthetic skin prickling and strange. Like static electricity had built up between his joints and mechanical attachments.

"Now?" You ask, and he's almost afraid to shake his head as he does it again, watching you move closer and closer. With each inch, he can feel his stress levels increasing, along with... something else.

Software Instability ^

Some feeling of great anticipation, drawing his eyes to your face and your eyes. Tugging and edging him to move closer despite the anxiety beginning to cloud his head.

Software Instability ^

Breaking the lines of cohesive thought he once had and shattering them into broken code. Orders unreceived, and information not heard or learnt.

S̸͇͙̠̒͜o̶̧̨̰̻̤͔͍̩̟̳̭͓̩̳̔̾̐͛͌̚f̵̧̠͉̪̹̲̬͍̊̅͌̈̓̅ţ̷̛̙̠̫̫͌̄͑w̴̳̭̽̎̽a̴̠̘͈̱̙̿͐͊̅̈́̄̊̔͜r̷̛̝̙͍͆͆̄̓͗̓̑͜e̸̩̹͉̫͆̌̋̈́͒̈͗͠͝ ̴̡̻̰̝̭͊̆̋͂̃ͅȊ̴̖̯̖̤̭͑͊̉̏͘n̴͔͖̻͓̲͐s̵̨̡̡̘͎͍̻̰̔̾̇ͅť̷̡̰̱̦͚̼̠̼͊͜a̵̢͇̩̭̅̏̍͋͐̔͛b̷̡͚̥͈͎̟̙̱̗̠̋̓́͛̅͌̑̅̀̏̒͝i̸͉͇̰̮͚͕̝̮̩͒͛̃͒͌̈́̕͝l̷̡̧̲̭̠̑͋͌̓̂͝į̶͇͔̺͓͖͖̝͍̺̩͓͇̃̈̍̇̔͜t̸̳͎͎̝͇̓͑̐̊̔̈͐̆̑̒̉͌͘y̸͖̬̮̟͕͖̞̌̐͑̓͗̒́̐̈́̀̂̆̐͜͠ ̸̠̜̬̲͘^̵͙̱͈̦͖̲͚̦̈́^̷̨͌̾ͅ

"Stop!" He orders and your hands are gone. Raised by your head, as you retreat back to your side of the couch. RK900's vision is blurred for a moment as he blinks rapidly, holding a hand to his head where his LED is whirring. Blue, yellow, orange. But not red. Never red. Slowly he calms down, his thirium pump slowing and his systems returning to their normal, paced speed.

"Holy shit— Are you okay?" You whisper, keeping your hands to yourself. You're curled in on yourself on the couch, staring at him like he was some risen dead. RK900 blinks a few times, through the haze. Your test...

Proved effective. Proved a cause— if not the cause of this glitch of this glitch. Gave him an answer.

"I'm fine. I'm perfect." He says as he stands, the strength all but returned to his tone. And now that he knew how it was caused, he had a good idea how to stop it. Patting down his clothes, he gave you a glance, looking at your face which is pale. Your eyes wide. He wonders for a moment if he should comfort you, before casting away the thought.

"You should go talk to Connor. I... don't think I can help. Not with this." You tell him with a soft voice as he steps over the table, making a beeline to the door. Again. Talk to Connor again.

The orders are already appearing in the corner of his eye, exactly the same as what you'd just said.

"Yes." He says with a nod, sparing you one more look with his sharp grey eyes. Searing into you with an intensity far too... specific, to be hostile.

"I think I will." And that's all he says to you before he walks out the door. Down the cracked steps and concrete, onto the quiet suburb road. Onto the streets that would lead him to Connor.

To the path that would hold the answers he so desperately needed right now.


	56. The Definitions of Madness (Hades!RK900 x Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Inspired by this artwork by @selfships-in-spanish and @ilikecheesecakeforbreakfast ‘s God!RK900 designs on Tumblr! Tried my best to keep this gender neutral, but I may have to make any maenad!reader/God!Nines fics fem!reader in the future due to the nature of maenads.

"What are you?" He asks you one night, voice like the softest silk from Persia, lit flame. A finger rests on your bare shoulder as you look out upon the garden, lain with fig and olive trees. Grapevines stretching out, searching desperately for sunlight that was not there. You're sitting out along the stone balcony, legs hanging off the edge, hanging moss gently brushing upon your head.

Like a cat laid out on a satin bed, you smile in comfort, listening as he approaches from the curtained door that leads back into the palaces long, empty halls. A palace of white limestone and black obsidian. Painted with death and the screams of those eternally suffering. You turn a deaf ear as you always do, opting to cherish the tiny bounty of life, hidden so deep inside this burned core.

Hades. The underworld by name and nature. Filled with the dead and their many resting places. You always imagined your stay here would be different. Not that you were ever one to complain.

"I've told you already. I am mortal." You say, not turning your head as the shroud of darkness comes to stand beside you. All black and gold, flourish and death. He wears his cape and clothes with honour, leaving little to the imagination as he walks. You find those cold eyes boring into yours, grey as the spirits he keeps imprisoned down here.

"Not anymore." It's like his mouth barely moves when he speaks, and the sound of his echoes around you. You wonder if he's a performer like you once were, projecting his voice. Or maybe that was just one of the perks that came with being Hades.

"Yes, well, that is your doing, is it not?" Conan, the god of death seems ruffled as you speak, watching your form glide from the balcony railing to the floor, and then down the stairs, fabrics ruffling under your feet, threatening to catch and trip you on your way down. With a sweeping movement your lift your chiton, allowing it to gather in your arms as you reach the bottom, resting on the soft grass below.

Not mortal since Dionysos cut a deal. For one of his more favoured followers, to bring them back from death. Conan had agreed, on one condition. A condition that kept you confined to this realm, for the time being. A condition that relied on his curiosity towards you alone.

What kind of mortal can capture such attention from Dionysos? Hank, as you knew him, far more bitter than the jovial depictions on amphoras of wine would have one know. What mortal has the influence to create such a want that would cause Hades to have his fellow god come to his door, a plea on his lips.

You fear the answer he's seeking is far more boring than he'd hope.

"So, I suppose you should tell me?" You call back up, feet falling on soft green grass. For a second you pretend to hear the whistling wind. You pretend it's fresh, mountain air you're breathing in, and not musty and tainted with sulfur.

"They call you maenad." He says, taking a step towards the stairs. You turn and look into the water, watching your reflection in the clear, crystalline water, reflecting on the surface. You can see murals depicting figures with swords and shields, in the tight grips of battle. Forever immortalized with such small, tiled clay.

"A maenad, yes." You nod and hum, saying nothing more as you perch on the edge, curiosity ever pushing you closer to the water's edge.

"Dionysos did tell me he had more." You mouth perks at the corner, another soft hum leaving you as you confirm what he heard with quick words, your mind recalling the others. So many others. Not many as good at their, ah... 'jobs', as you.

"He does. Hundreds more. Up above. In Thebes, and Athens. Dancing in the forests, playing in the lakes. Some reside here, in Hades. Some float in the river, some stand with pride in Elysium." Your fingertips touch the water, watching ripples move outwards in rings. Through the cracked reflection, you see his dark figure behind you once more. You feel no fear.

"I believe I am the only one here, however." You say raising up a hand as you watch a single drop of water slide from finger to palm, palm to wrist and wrist to elbow in a long, clear line. Behind it, the palace towers gleam menacingly. A monument to the grandeur of loneliness.

"You have not answered my question." Blunt is his speech. As always. You give a gentle sigh, turning your head to face the god with a sharpness on your tongue.

"To hear Aristophanes tell it, we are no one. Followers represented by one unruly slave, following a fat and an honourless god. We are weapons against political enemies and an allegory for failed Athenian leadership." His eyebrow quirks, just an inch. Nothing more comes from him, as your rant is spurred on by more rage-filled opinions. You steel the fire for one moment, before letting it burn on again.

"To hear Euripides tell it, we are mad women. That which every Greek housewife should not be. We are near inhuman. We kill, we feast on flesh and we drive men to their deaths. Dedicated to Bacchus wholly, from madness to bloodlust." Your fingers flex and your teeth clench, and the god stares on, walking closer to the water's edge as he too peers in.

"You think them fools?" He asks, and you scoff with harsh disdain.

"I think them wrong." You swear you see it for a moment. A smile painted on such a terrifying visage of death. But you must be incorrect, because as you blink away your soft surprise, so do you seem to blink away the smile. Replaced with that same indifference.

"I could always pull them up if you'd like. Summon them here, so you can give them a piece of your mind?" Your eyes flicker over to his form. Stone-faced, icy eyes- but you can see it. The humour, the lilted tone you'd slowly come to learn. Slowly come to speak, and interpret, like Hebrew or Greek.

"I'll let old ghosts lie. Especially ones as old as them." You snort, finding a strange pleasure in such insult to those long dead. Beside you, there is a soft sound. Snort of laughter or cough of discomfort, you do not know. But it's acknowledgement at the very least.

"So, you speak the thoughts of others. Definitions of your being with no validity in their claim to define." He says, stepping back with a flourish of his cape that just seeps self-importance. You allow him the moment, tilting your head lazily in his direction as you pop one brow.

"So?" Defiantly you ask, and strictly he responds. Brow creased into that other, set expression you'd grown to know and love so well.

"So, what are you to you?" The question gives you pause. Taking a moment to think, you consider yourself in the reflection. Your face, unchanged and the same as when you'd first died. Your eyes, pupil-less and white. And your smile, carrying the same blunt force as the Thyrsus you once wielded so deftly in your hand.

"We are many, but we are also our own. Not any single woman, not any single man or being. We crave freedom, we crave life and we crave pleasure. We serve our Iacchus- our Dionysos, with whatever name he so chooses because he gives us life. Gives us moments, however few, where we can see that which is undefined. Seek answers beyond that which is uninhibited by borders like reality and dream." In your head you see them. Other followers of Bacchus. Those who walked roads far different to yours, those whose stories and lives closely resembled yours. Those people you'd run with, fought with, killed with. So many people who've lived and died, so many cities you'd walked in and out. So many lives you'd lived at once.

"Freedom, life, pleasure..." You see the god trail off, his gaze slowly looking you from toe to head as he speaks. For once you aren't looked at like prey. You're an oddity, an unknown. And you like that.

"Hard to find such things down here." Out of the side of your eye, you watch him, raising a hand to his throat as if he regrets the words. A slow smile pulls on your lips, and you rise back to your feet, walking to his side.

"You'd be surprised." There's a temptation to reach out and take his arm, let your fingers rest on what you can imagine is cold, never-warming skin of his chest. But you do not, taking your place at his side, feet planted firmly into the ground.

"You ask who I am..." You murmur, looking away and out across the rest of the garden. So small, and so restrictive. A tantalizing glimpse of what awaits you in the overworld. A place you have not yet won your right to return to yet. Not that you complained, no.

That just meant more fun was to be had down here.

"I am the rock that falls and kills the hunter, over-stalking the forest while stripping it of its prey," You speak, walking to a nearby sycamore tree. Smooth and peeling, you reach out and take a strip of the dead bark, slowly tearing it downwards, listening to it peel.

"I am the water that settles in a drowning pirates lungs, like gold down a traitors throat. I am the asp in the breast of a man too caught in his politics to remember those who he is to represent." Again he approaches you. Ever falling behind you, in step. The thought is blasphemy, and would likely get you killed on the spot. It's what makes you smile.

"You're death." Ha. Funny, you think, for someone like he to make such a claim. Incorrect as much as it is bold.

"I'm chaos." You correct him with no fear in your heart, pulling more bark back to drop to the grass, letting it's softer, green insides open for you to inspect. To run your fingers along with a featherlike touch. Taking away that which prevented the tree from growing more.

"I may not strike when I am needed, and I may not strike at the right time, but I strike," You say, before turning to the god to look him in the eyes. Such cold, unfeeling eyes. "That is more that can be said of me than many of those up above."

Silently he stews. Hades. Conan. King of the Dead. Watching you with that same face of rock, that same emotionless mask.

"I do not understand." He finally decides on as you sigh. You do not know if your ears are tricking you when you hear the slightest touches of embarrassment in his tone. You turn back to the tree but are silenced when something touches your back. Fingers on your bare skin send a sensation running through your body. Not a cold lull, not a dead weight. But burning.

He feels like he is burning you. Burning you so good. Like coals recently dead in a hearth, like the warmth of a lovers sleeping body. Warmth like that, but more than you have ever known.

But when you turn to look into his eyes, he is the same as ever. Stony, icy, with those blackish wisps coming off of his combed hair.

Only closer.

"But, I look forward to learning." He says with a hush that manifests shivers in your body, up your spine. Reaching forward as he leans, the god of death brushes aside some of your stray hairs, making sure your eyes are on his face as he smiles, just a millimetre.

And then he's gone. In a dark cloud of quickly dissipating smoke, off to continue his responsibilities in the world elsewhere. Leaving you alone, to swallow the build of spit in your mouth. To walk back to the fountain, to cup your hands and wash your face.

To try to rid your body of this constant, ever-present burning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! If you enjoyed this maybe check out my new Captain Allen fic? It's a slowburn with murder, enemies-to-friends-to-lovers and cryptids! So if that sounds kinda like your thing, please do check it out here! https://archiveofourown.org/works/16052891/chapters/37478156


	57. Drinks (RK800-60 x Reader)

RK800-60 had never really been one for social events. Even after his deviation, the android had issues being able to hold a conversation for a long while, which was not helped by the consistent amount of people mistaking him for his brothers. Connor especially.

So why exactly, had he decided that coming along to a work party at some rundown bar? Knowing that his coworkers would all be talking amongst themselves? And that he couldn't even order a drink for himself to drown his sorrows?

The android gave another heavy sigh, his arms resting on the bar as the loud laughter and yells of Hank and Chris and all the other humans echoed throughout the mostly empty bar. Even Connor and RK900 seemed to be enjoying themselves. Leaning by a nearby window, talking amongst themselves. At one point RK900′s eyes lock on him, and he gives a nod. RK800-60 is quick to return a wave before casting his eyes back down to the line of bottles and cups in front of him.

Drinks left opened and unattended by the large swathes of police officers coming in and out of the bar. Drinks that he'd silently decided to guard. It was one way to kill the time at least, he thinks with another soft sigh. He can't see how this night can get any worse.

"Well, don't you look happy?" A voice behind him chirps, and RK800-60 can feel all of his systems seizing up. Stopping and stuttering as a friendly figure took the seat beside him, with a smile so bright, he finds himself frozen. Stuck and rigid in his chair.

Out of all the detectives in the department, you'd always been the nicest to him. Even after you found out that he'd kidnapped Hank in CyberLife Tower, pre his deviancy. Even after he and his brothers were largely shunned by a portion of the precinct. You were the first to volunteer as his partner on a case, first to wish him a good morning or a good night. First to actually sit down with him, right here, right now, and start a conversation.

"You okay?" You ask, tilting your head to the side, and RK800-60 feels his thirium pump stutter and halt for a moment, causing him to suck in a deep breath. The wheeze that leaves him is more than just audible, it's like an alarm, and RK800-60 can feel the blue flushing into his cheeks before it even happens. Your lips are pursed, holding in laughter as you lift up your hand and give a little wave.

Waving back should have been so simple. It could have been that cute little moment like you have in romcoms. He could have been smooth, and sweet, and cool.

But instead, RK800-60 sticks out his arm in a panicked, erratic movement- lurching forward, hitting every single one of the open bottles in front of him, setting off a sudden chain of popped bottles and liquids, exploding and bursting all over the tables like the laughter of the groups behind him.

He doesn't look up. He doesn't even look at the mess of bottles he's scrambled to stop, hearing as the bartender rushed over, cursing and muttering about androids under his breath. RK800-60 can feel the mixture of beer, gin and other disgusting alcohol seeping into his shirt and sticking to his synthetic skin. The laughter behind him is only rising in intensity and volume, filling the air like a solid, oppressive force, crushing him inwards and slowly squeezing him from the inside out.

"I... I should go-" He begins to turn away, ready to grab his coat and flee back home where he could hide until Connor and RK900 came home. But you weren't about to let this happen apparently, judging by the sudden and strong grip around his arm, pulling him to his feet, standing face to face.

"Let's get a look at you..." You murmur, taking him by the arms and looking over his shirt. The beer had soaked him, making his nice pressed shirt sticky and gross, leaving a godawful smell. But you didn't seem to care, running your fingers along the wet fabric, sending a shudder through him as his breath hitched unnecessarily.

"Come with me." You say with a soft laugh, no malicious intent hiding behind the words as the room goes largely quiet, before returning to it's buzzing hum. Quickly leading him away and into the back where the bathroom is, RK800-60 tries his best to ignore the thrum of energy he felt where your fingers and hands held him. Sitting him on the counter, you move to the paper towel dispenser and begin pulling a large amount out. 

He's finding it hard to believe that anyone could care so much about his wellbeing that they would help him like this. He was just an android and a copy at that. Still unable to rationalize your care and the gentle approach you tried so hard to take with him.

"Are you okay?" You ask him, looking up from the large wad in your hands. The android clears his throat and nods, trying his best not to look any more awkward as he had before. This is especially difficult when you walk over, standing between his legs so you could dab at the liquid staining his shirt. You're close enough that his head is nearly touching yours. His lips at the perfect height to lean in and kiss your forehead, arms ready and waiting for an order to pull you into a tight hug. And order that never comes.

"You know, if you didn't want to come tonight you could have told me. I would have skipped with you." You speak so casually, disposing of the first damp towel of many to come. RK800-60 only swallows, ignoring the thrum in his heart as your fingers return to trailing across his shirt and, by extent, his chest.

"I just- I uh- Wouldn't want to take you away from everyone else." He speaks properly for the first time, that awkward and goofy voice made no more manly or attractive in his eyes with the cracking and breaking. His nervousness is eating away at him, and it's obvious enough for you to see as you glance up at him, eyebrows raising.

"I'd much rather spend time with you than any of those anti-android pricks." You murmur, setting down another towel. This time you make no move to replace it, looking up at the android who's LED was circling such a shaky, anxious yellow. He swallows heavily, and his Adam's apple bobs.

"I- I think that's the best we can do." He tells you with a small smile, looking down at his shirt. There would be no fixing it now, but you still make no effort to move.

"It's funny," You murmur, hands still pressed to his chest. Maybe it's his imagination, but he can swear you're closer than before. Warmer than before.

"What is?" He asks, watching your eyes look over every aspect of his face, freezing up under your touch once again as your fingers move up to brush away a loose curl of his hair. He fights every part of his system that's telling him to shut his eyes and lean into your hand.

"That I'd rather be standing in a gross, dirty bar bathroom than outside there with the alcohol and the people. All because of you." Like a system shutdown, RK800-60's tongue stops working. His brain stops working, as his systems try to find the best response. He was made to chase deviants, to solve murders- not this. God, does he wish he was built for this.

"You gonna say something?" You ask with a gentle giggle, hand moving to trace along his jawline. His eyes shut under the touch, leaning in with a long sigh as you lean up, touching your nose against his. 

It's not the most romantic setting. Having his first kiss soaked in beer, sitting on the bathroom counter in a bar. But it might as well have happened at the top of the eiffel tower, or in the middle of Florence because it was with you.

Your fingers tangled and ran through his hair, unable to stop themselves from roaming down his neck and chest, before going back up again. His hands were fixed on your face, kissing hard and moaning soft. Almost terrified you were going to push him away at any moment. But you don't. You stay with him, you hold him tight and kiss him with more vigour and affection that he's ever known. And the android can feel himself melting from it all. 

"Let's get out of here." You murmur as you pull away, lips still brushing as you breathe heavily against him. Letting himself slowly catch up, his processors doing exactly as they were made to do as he went over your words another few times.

"Where to?" He asks with a slight mumble, still dazed from the shock of it all. You laugh against his lips gently, and he realizes it's the most beautiful thing he's ever seen or felt.

"The park, a quieter bar, my house. Anywhere. I just- I wanna be alone with you." The android senses no teasing in your tone. No ulterior motive, or darker intentions. It's just affection and excitement at the chance of spending a few moments in his arms, or on his lips.

"Let me take you away." You beg him, pulling him to his feet and towards the bathroom door, on a path towards a brighter outside world.

And with a smile -bright and genuine- he does.


	58. Black Ice (RK900 x Reader)

Never did you ever think you’d be in a situation like this with an android.

A one on one gunfight? Yeah, that was very possible. A hostage situation? Shit, you’d seen it a billion times before. But you never once thought you’d be caught in a situation like… this.

You were pretty sure RK900 didn’t think so either. Judging by the glare, pointed in your direction, dripping with complete and utter disdain. Even from the other side of the empty road outside your house, you could feel his stare like fire coated daggers, stabbing holes into your cold, snowflake caked clothes and skin.

“Okay, but consider this- it’s really funny though.” Your laughter bled into the sentence, hands laid relaxed at your sides as you pushed off the pavement and onto the thick sheen of frost that coated the road. Smoothly, you glided from one end

“That is not an argument.” The android looked quite the sight. His mouth and, by extension, speech, covered and muffled by a thick black scarf you’d gifted him at the start of the winter. An elegant designer coat, along with a pair of long pants and fashionable winter books had him looking like quite the model.

A grumpy, cold, miserable model.

“How come you can scale a building in like, 20 seconds flat, but you can’t walk across ice?” You asked, placing your hands flat against his strong shoulders before pushing back with a giggle, spinning yourself in a circle. Many years of freezing, bitter winters in Detroit had left you quite the snow-day expert from a young age.

“I fail to see how learning to glide on ice would help me with a case.” He answered, hands underneath his armpits as he glanced up and down the street like he expected you to be hit by a car at any moment. In this weather. Hang on, did androids even feel co- Nevermind.

“What if we have a case tomorrow and you have to chase a guy over ice because he’s coming towards me and you slip and I die.” You answer without pause, looking up from the ice, blankly, right into his eyes. Nines pinches the bridge of his nose.

“I don’t think that’s-”

“And I die.” A long pause passes and it’s impossible to keep the growing smile from tugging the corner of your cheeks upwards.

“Fine.” His words are reluctant and stern, but they well your stomach with happiness as you slide forward, taking his hands in yours in an instant. You nearly hiss with the contact, Jesus Christ. It was like touching a frosty metal pole.

“What are you doing?” His urgent tone takes you off guard as you look up to see his eyes holding you in a steely gaze. His hands are still clasped in yours.

“Holding your hands.” You answer, looking from side to side, before catching the slight blue flush of thirium on his cheeks.

“Why? What is the purpose?” He asks with the same tone and level. Was he… nervous? He looked nervous. He sounded nervous. This was… weird.

And kinda funny.

“It’s so you don’t fall.” You answer with a snort, moving back as you try to pull him with you. Quietly he steps forward, one shaky foot finding purchase on the slippery path.

“Okay, good. And now one foot... after the other- Just like that, perfect! And... off ...we…. go!” With a cheery giggle from you, and a grunt from him, you push back, letting both of you skid across the ice, gaining speed for only a moment. This moment is enough time for Nines to move his grip, your shoulders being clutched tightly under his fingers as you slowly cascade a short way down the road, moving in slow circles. Like some clumsy, roadside waltz.

“Are you okay?” You ask the android, whose eyes seem glued to both your feet. You’d seen him take bullets, get hit by cars and even die at one point during your partnership. Always coming back repaired. Spick and span, nice and new. Surely, the risk of a little slip wasn’t making this him this anxious?

“I’m fine.” He answers, and you notice the grip on your shoulders lessen a tad as, finally, he looks up.

Oh… wow. You’re not sure when you got this close.

Your bodies are pressed up against each other like you’d both about to take to the dance floor for a tango of some kind. Hell, you were pretty sure a tango would have felt less intimate than this. Thank god it seemed too cold for anyone in your suburb to be heading outside today.

“Should I let go?” You give him an opening to leave, completely aware that if you were to lean in any more your head would fit quite nicely and neatly right against his chest. It’s tempting, you won’t lie, but it wouldn’t exactly make this situation any less uncomfortable.

“I… think not.” He responds, and you feel his hands move to rest around your back. Now you felt like two awkward teenagers at a school disco, surrounded by teachers and chaperones, with godawful pop music playing from the speakers all around.

“I fail to see how you find this amusing,” Nines grumbles after a few more seconds, and a heavy sigh leaves your lips.

“Yeah, well you’re supposed to do it on your own. And then push off of poles and cars and stuff.” You answer with a grumbly voice, pushing his chest and breaking yourself out of his hold. The movement can’t be more than a few centimetres at most, but it’s enough to throw you both suddenly off balance, sending you both into a wobbly state, which quickly stabilizes as you grab each other's hands and dig your heels into the ice, sending cracks through its sheen of a surface.

And then you’re pressed into his chest again, pulled into his body with a sharp tug of his arm, face colliding with soft fabric and uncomfortable plastic and metal underneath his skin. It now occurs to you how warm he his, and how tight his arm feels locked around your waist. One hand still hanging by his side, fingers intertwined with yours.

“Nines?” You ask, heart thumping an irregular beat in your chest from the exciting adrenaline of almost cracking your head open on black ice and tarmac. He squeezes your hands in acknowledgement, and you let out the slightest huff of a laugh.

“You’re… You’ve been my partner a very long time. Nearly a year now, and I want you to know, that as much as I enjoy your company and cherish you-” You look up at his face, staring down at your with pretty, steel coloured grey eyes. Molten steel, when you consider the sudden heat you find that wasn’t there a few moments ago. A gentle, sweet smile pulls itself upon your lips.

“I really, really want to push you and make you fall and eat shit right now.” You admit bluntly with a burst of laughter and a very unattractive giggle snort, as Nines body tensed up against yours. His eyes hardening over once again. Oh, come on, was he really upset? You could feel him pulling away now, and rolled your eyes.

“Fine.” He responds sorely, and it’s with a deep sigh that you begin speaking, ready for him to go full lecture on you. Like he always did.

“Nines, it’s a joke, I didn’t mean anything by it. I’m only- FUCK!” You start to speak but it’s all but cut off as, as quickly as he’d stepped away, Nines places his hands on your shoulders and pushes you. He sends you from stable, still and standing to a toppling figure, screeching a swear as you fell to your hard, black-ice demise. Hands outstretched in an effort to balance and grasp at the same time.

Grasping, and grabbing onto the clean winter-coat of the smirking deviant at the last minute. Taking him with you as you tumbled, pulling his synthetic form down on top of you, as your back painfully hit the hard ground.

“Asshole!” You laugh with the slightest grunt, feeling Nines roll off of you and onto his back. You once again count yourself lucky that no one is around as you sit up and check your back. Nothing more than a graze maybe a bruise or two. You’d fared much worse before. And watching Nines take a fall like that? Oh, it was absolutely worth it.

“You can’t blame me for this one either.” You laugh when he doesn’t respond, leaning back down on the road with a sigh, your fingertips outstretched, numbly touching the little specks of stone and gravel kicked up by cars long gone.

“You’re a nightmare.” Nines grumbles from somewhere beside you. Back when you’d started working with him you would have thought him annoyed. Angry, even. With this year under your belt, you knew better. You knew the lilt his voice took when he was smug, or amused. And you could hear it now. In regards to a situation of which his involvement was entirely his own fault.

Pushing himself up to a seating position, brushing frost and little stones from what was a pristine coat, you see the side eye he gives you. A quick scan of your vitals, that you knew from the twitch of his eye. Checking you over, despite his part in your fall. You did the same, noting no scratches or damage. And you knew anything internal would have been brought up by now, in some snarky complaint. On your own, you both finish your assessments of each others health, and when you’re done and find yourself still lying flat on the ground, you laugh.

“Yeah.” You sigh happily in response to his statement, staring up the snow falling softly, floating down from a deep grey sky. Feeling cool tarmac under your body, and how different it felt to being pressed up against his body some 30 seconds ago. Hearing the low mutter of an android who likely would not let you forget this moment for the next week.

“Yeah, I really am.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, sorry about the lack of updates this past month. If you follow my Tumblr you'll probably know what's been going on w/ me but if not I'll fill you in!
> 
> Last month was a pretty rough month for me. As you may know, I've had to drop out of uni for health-related reasons, these reasons being that I have undiagnosed brain problems that have yet to be identified. This month and the next is one filled with tests and an MRI scan, and that alone was stressful enough without the second awful thing.
> 
> About a month ago now 3 family friends and ex-workmates of my family were killed in a helicopter crash. It was very sudden and very upsetting for the whole of my family and as such, I ended up taking some time off to support my parents, whose friends the victims were.
> 
> I'm now trying to get back into writing, and will try and offer as many updates as possible over the summer/Christmas holidays right now. Regardless of what has happened, I'm very happy to be back in and writing and look forward to producing more for everyone. Thank you for reading, and I hope you have a wonderful day!


	59. A Christmas Miracle (RK900 x Reader)

The 23rd of December, 2039, was a bright, snowy day. A bright snowy day gifted with a pitch black night. The streets of Detroit were full with life, despite the cold seeping in through window sills and tightly knit jumpers. Despite the dim light that left eerie shadows and uncomfortable shapes on brick and stone walls and concrete pavements.

There was no notice to it all as shops closed to the disappointment of giggling, bright-eyed children not yet ready to go to sleep. With cars travelling back and forth, carrying parents, tired but glad for the long days of work, getting ready to head home to their families. With teenagers home from school, talking excitedly about tomorrow’s Christmas Eve parties and, after that, the cherished holiday itself. Lively, excited, and ready for the coming celebrations and New Year.

The Detroit Police Station sat in such dark, desolate opposition to the scenes of joy.

Quiet. Almost empty, it’s front desk was unmanned and devoid of uncanny smiling receptionists ready to help you in however way they could. It’s cold interior held empty desks with empty files and empty mugs, and the only light source came from the cold, linoleum-floored break room. 

The break room, where surrounded by broken glass and upturned chairs, two figures stood against one another. With stiff movements restricted by a thick and unwelcoming air. One elevated on a flimsy metal stepladder, the other with their feet firmly planted to the floor. Two figures locked in a tense, near hostile standoff.

“Why am I here, detective?” The voice called. Empty, cold. The voice of an android, deviant only in name. Calling up to an unknown figure it spoke, hands holding its weapon of choice as it continued its speech with the sombre tone of a man facing death.

“Why?” It asked blankly. Exhaustedly. Weighed not by the physical strain of its journey here, but the emotional one. “Just to suffer? To do what you want? I won’t. You won’t make me do this, you won’t make me do anything. Not again.”

Silent was the second figure, as it mulled over the androids words. Considering them like a lion considered its prey. Still, and unmoving as they stared on down, just as devoid of emotion. An uncaring, unmoveable look in their unfeeling, tired eyes.

“Conan, would you shut the fuck up and just give me the fucking fairy lights?” You responded with a long groan, your voice had all the eloquence and politeness of a stray dog taking a piss in a back alley garbage can.

You didn’t want to be here. You didn’t want to be stuck in a cold police station putting up Christmas decorations late. And certainly not with the coldest, most unfriendly android in the office. But actions have consequences, and no matter how much you wanted to just be at home with a hot drink and the tv playing your favourite show, that would not change the fact that you were here now, alone with Conan. You let out a long, heavy sigh as you snatch a hanging star from his hands, too busy putting

“What the fuck are you two doing?” Scratch that. Conan and Hank.

He looked just as miserable as you. Bags under his eyes and creased, many day old clothes. While thousands of other people were lucky enough to have their holidays work free, your job required an almost constant level of readiness. Life went on, even during Christmas. And murder, no matter the holiday, happened all the same.

“Decorating…” The android responds to Hank dejectedly, as you begin your descent on the stepladder, eying up the coffee machine in the corner. You’d been working a good hour or two now and had only just started making real progress on the breakroom. It looked like a long night ahead.

“Reciting our slam poetry from when we were 15, apparently.” You grumble and roll your eyes, patting down your jeans in a motion that only added more cheap glitter and torn tinsel to the sparkling disco-ball like pants. Stupid half-priced decorations.

“I am an android,” Conan begins as you sigh and walk over to the machine, raising a coffee mug in Hanks general direction. He gives you a nod, as Conan continues with his Shakespearean speech.

“I was never 15. And I see nothing wrong with lamenting the fact that we of all people have been set to do such… menial work.” Silently you slip Hank the mug of straight black coffee, and silently he nods and walks out of view, leaving you alone with your frustrating partner. After knocking back half your mug, you slam the cup down and walk back to the ladder, snorting at his words.

“I know right? It’s almost like we got in trouble for knocking down all those pedestrians and nearly getting poor people hit by cars while chasing a mugger, and now we’re being punished.” Sarcasm seeped into every crevice of your words, and for the first time in a while you found Conan unappreciative of your dry wit, his grumbles reaching your ears as he kept a tight grip on the ladder, handing you the next set of decorations.

Normally you liked Conan. You liked how you could work almost in sync with the android, how you could go days without really having to talk about anything deep on the job if you didn’t want to. How things almost always seemed to go well with him around. But on the off chance, it did? On that slim, hateful chance that something messes up?

You could say with full confidence, it was at times like these where he was the most insufferable man on the planet.

“Detective, I fail to see how this is my fault? You were the one who let the perpetrator get away. I was simply doing my job.” Your jaw set, as your grip on the innocent decorative ball in your hand all but crushed it into papery, glittery tat. Turning around, you send a pointed look downwards.

“I hate you. I hate you and I wish I’d never met you.” You hiss with little meaning behind the words, feeling a fire light itself in your stomach at the way the corners of his lips suddenly quirk up.

“You’ve broken another ‘bauble’.” Like a cat knocking a glass of water off a table, you extend your arm out and drop the decoration to the ground, never once breaking eye contact with him.

“Sure have.” You say, before taking another and fixing it to the next hook in the line. It’s after five more mostly silent minutes of work and minor grumbling that Conan speaks up, looking to the corpse of Christmas that you’d so unceremoniously discarded.

“Are you going to clean that up?” He asks you, with the same tone of a voice a sibling trying to pin chores on the other would use. It drives you up the wall, snapping what little nerves are still intact as you once again turn around and descend the ladder, dropping down in front of him with nothing but the sound of war bells in your ears.

“Listen, fucker, I don’t fix problems. I create them.” Like a warring couple to be married, you find yourself under the ladders metal archway, face to face with Conan. RK900. Your partner, who’s smug expression had your eyes sending daggers right back into the grey, cold steel that were his.

“And I am supposed to clean up after you?” He tilts his head and you ignore the other emotions the actions create in your body, focusing on your exhaustion and frustration and doing your best to feed the flame.

“You can do whatever the hell you want because I am not your mom, and you are not my boss. You want to act like a petulant child and complain all night? Fine. I will too.” His eyes follow your pointing finger with an amusement you find all too aggravating, his eyebrows raising as your final words leave your lips.

“You’re not very mature.” He quips with a lilt, placing his hands behind his back in a single neat movement.

“Nope.” You respond with a pop, mimicking his action as you roll back on your heels, watching as his gaze flickered up for a millisecond, before focusing back on your face. He grinned like a wolf.

“And not a good detective, either.” He says with that same smile, watching you for any falter in your expression. There is none.

“Oh? And why’s that?” You ask, bringing your hands to cross over your chest as you lean in with a wide smirk. Waiting with baited breath for whatever ridiculous thing he was going to come up with next.

“Because,” Conan said, leaning his head in with a sudden hushed voice, speaking words that make your face blanch. “we have been standing under mistletoe for the past 26 seconds and you have yet to have noticed.”

Your eyes flicker up, and there it is. A small mistletoe branch, it’s white bulbs small and round like mini snowballs draped over the pretty, vibrant green. There it is, lying on the top of one of the stairs, dropped there as you moved the box of baubles you’d decorated with and discarded. Waiting there for the perfect moment to strike, there it is.

Egging you and Conan into a situation of which your feelings and involvement, were as of yet a confusing mess even to you, at this very moment.

“Ah, fuck.” You swear softly under your breath, only to have it sucked out of you as a bark of laughter leaves the android. All moodiness and sulk seemingly gone. Drained away.

“I believe there is a tradition behind this, detective.” He murmurs at a level no louder than a whisper, trailing his words from his lips down your spine, sending shivers wholly through you. His lips which are getting ever closer, leaving you anxious. Anxious with embarrassing anticipation which steals your breath and has you choking your on words.

“Oh, yeah right. Like I’m gonna just- MMPH-” You try to blow him off, but it seemed as though your parted lips were all too much of a temptation for the android. The android who you knew to be so calculated and thoughtful in all his actions and words. To be cold and careful. Giving into you completely as his mouth covered yours, hands surrounding you to pull you into the hot and impulsive kiss.

It's fantastic, to your delight and frustration. He knows what he's doing with his tongue, sliding past your lips and counting your teeth. With his hands, moving lightly like feathers that send your body into another attack of shivers. And with his breath, pushed out of his mechanical body as some vent, sending air fanning hot across your face. It's after a long, overwhelming 10 seconds, he pulls away, with a certain smugness to his grin.

Silence holds you for the following moments. The cold all but a faint memory against his overheating body, excited and turned on. Still grinning so proudly, he leans in close till his lips brush upon your ear.

“You seem quite shocked, Detective. We still have work to do, perhaps another will wake you up?” Oh, how you want to strangle him right now. Pin him to a wall and do unspeakable things. But it's unspeakable you stay as he turns his attention to your neck, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses in a trail to your jawline.

“You are impossible.” You pant, hands pressed to his chest. You thought you would have stepped away by now. Pulled out of his grip and started a tirade of expletives and yelling, but that of course was under the assumption that you wanted this- any of this, to stop.

“A sentiment I share,” Conan says, and you barely have time to roll your eyes before he's kissing you again, a hand at your cheek and a smile threatening to break the tryst at any moment. Even you find it hard to suppress the laughter beginning to bubble in your core.

“You seem happy.” You mumble during a pause, eyes closed in bliss as his hands run along your back. He's still mechanical in his actions, but in this moment you don't find it to be something you completely dislike.

“I admit to finding this… preferable to our previous task.” His comments earn him a soft laugh, your face resting itself on his shoulder, cheek pressing against his shirt. It’s a perfect moment, but it cannot last. Not when there was so much you both still had to do.

“We’ll have to get back to work eventually.” As much as he and you both dislike it, he knows you are right, a hand resting on the small of your back as the android sighs.

“Afterwards, then.” He says, taking a step back and gesturing to the ladder, allowing you room to climb back up. You press one kiss to his jawline, before pulling yourself back up there. And for the next few hours, work continues, along with the teasing and bickering. And if you see him moving and acting just a little bit faster, and find his hands trailing at your sides at every ascent and descent on the ladder? Well, you simply put that on your particular skills in persuasion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This was originally started for @connorshero ‘s writing challenge but I was a fool who started writing before I claimed the prompt, and it got snatched up by someone more competent asxdfghjg. Regardless, I hope you can enjoy this kind of early Christmas prompt! It’s my favourite holiday and I really am looking forward to writing more! Tysm!
> 
> 2nd A/N: This is the final part of this story. I'm finshed with writing for the dbh fandom, you can find my explanation here http://omi-writings.tumblr.com/post/180674132723/a-heart-to-heart-regarding-my-dbh-content-and-a . Thank you for everything, the support and the kudos and kind words! It was a fun time, goodbye!

**Author's Note:**

> That's all I have, for now, will hopefully post more soon? Thank you for reading!


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